As Time Goes By
by Joyce LaKee
Summary: Melanie Wilkes' death left a mighty big hole in the lives of those who knew her, but most especially three devastated children. Who will they turn to for solace now? My attempt at Bildungsroman.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

The grey was creeping in at the edges of the woman's consciousness, and at the edges of her vision. With a great effort she spoke.

"Scarlett-promise me"

"Yes, Melly?"

A breath, a pause.

"Take care of Beau." Breath. "Take care of Ashley."

It seemed as though Scarlett replied, but she wasn't sure. Concentrating was so hard when one was dying. The grey was getting stronger. The woman wasn't afraid of dying, but she was urgent...

She felt her hand lifted in Scarlett's warm one, saw it pressed against Scarlett's warm cheek.

"How warm and strong and capable your hands are Scarlett, warm and strong and capable just like you," she said.

Or did she? It _seemed_ like she did...

It didn't matter-time to surrender-Oh no!

Must make one last effort.

"Be kind to Captain Butler-he loves you..."

The grey came and she surrendered to it.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

1873

In the fall of 1873, Melanie Wilkes died from complications following a miscarriage, leaving behind a grief stricken husband and son. In fact, her husband was so stricken he wandered around the rooms of their little house like a wraith, aimless and pale. It was Scarlett Butler who stepped into the gap, Scarlett who pushed her own grief and devastation down to the bottom of her soul so she could give to the dead what was due to the dead.

At sunrise on the morning of the funeral, she swept into the nursery of her own spacious mansion, her drowsy maid stumbling behind.

"Time to get up," Scarlett announced curtly to the two children who were sleeping in their separate beds as she set the lamp down on the table between them She strode to the window, twitched opened the curtains, and peered outside into the grey. For days the weather had been atrocious, either raining or misting, and relentlessly cold. But it matched her mood. Sunshine would have been profane.

She was a slender, handsome woman, a shade under medium height, her appearance striking rather than classically beautiful. She had straight black hair, at the moment pulled into a severe bun, and fair white skin, but her most memorable feature was a pair of amazingly expressive emerald green eyes ringed by bristly black lashes. By the raising of an eyebrow or the flutter of lids she could be at turns mischievous, charming, or flirtatious; or on the other hand cold, bullying, or angry. She knew all the feminine tricks of allure to accentuate her assets and she knew how to manipulate men into giving her anything she wanted-most of the time. On the other hand, women generally saw right through her artifice-but who cared about the opinion of women?

Scarlett watched the glow on the horizon where the sun was struggling to rise. But even when risen, it would only be the frail, weakening sun of the dying year-and the light was further dimmed as it struggled to penetrate a thick layer of storm clouds. It wasn't raining yet, thank goodness, but even if it stayed dry, it probably wouldn't make any difference. After this past week, Oakland Cemetery was bound to be a wretched, boggy swamp.

She swallowed painfully against the lump in her throat and reflected grimly that she'd never make it through this day without going mad. Melanie was her best friend, her greatest ally, her mainstay for more than a decade. But to her deep shame, she'd repaid Melanie's loyalty with the utmost contempt and betrayal. In sharp contrast to Scarlett's bold and vivacious personality, Melanie was plain and old-fashioned and boring. Melanie bowed to the opinions of old ladies. Melanie was too scared to say boo to a goose. Unforgivable traits, every one. Under normal circumstances, Scarlett could have dismissed and easily forgotten someone as insignificant as Melanie. But it was no normal circumstance that brought the two dissimilar women together-many years ago, Ashley Wilkes passed over Scarlett to marry Melanie. In revenge, Scarlett turned around and married Melanie's brother. And so, for years and years, Scarlett hated Melanie and dreamed of having Ashley for her own.

It was only when Melanie lay dying three days ago and asked to see her one last time, that Scarlett-fool that she was!-realized for the very first time that rather than being the obstacle to her happiness, Melanie was on her side all along. In fact, she was the only real girl friend Scarlett had ever had.

By some alchemy forged from grief, pain and the new growth of her soul, she realized that Ashley Wilkes was not now and had never been the man of her dreams. No, the man of her dreams was her own husband, Rhett.

Rhett-the most infuriating man she ever knew. The most contrary, the most scandalous and-admit it-the most exciting. She married him on impulse after a passionate proposal because she liked him (most of the time) and was attracted to the prospect of economic security he offered. She did not marry him for love. But Rhett knew that. Scarlett had been brutally honest with him on that point when he proposed to her. And it didn't seem to bother him. Besides, Rhett insisted he didn't love Scarlett either, but only wanted her. Not very flattering, but so it went.

With this understanding, they married and were happy at first-they built a mansion to live in Atlanta, and Scarlett bore a daughter they named Bonnie. But she could not forget her obsession with Ashley, and eventually refused Rhett his marital rights-and from then on they lived separate lives under the same roof. But that state of affairs could never last with a healthy, virile man like Rhett Butler, and it all came to a head on that dreadful night after Scarlett was caught being held in Ashley's arms, and Rhett, drunk and crazy with jealousy, half seduced, half forced his attentions on her. A baby resulted from that wild night, but was lost to miscarriage. And they never did reconcile before the unthinkable happened-little Bonnie's death. After that, Rhett became a drunken, withdrawn stranger, and finally left her for good-three days ago-on the night Melanie died. Which, coincidentally, was the very night she realized that it was Rhett she really loved.

Scarlett smeared her fingertips through the condensation beading the leaded glass window, watched the water drip down the glass, then clenched her fist in frustration. How she wished she were free to go back to Tara this very minute! Tara-her real home, the home where she grew up. She would be there right now, if only she weren't bound here by the ties of kin and friendship. But after all the mean and unworthy things she did to Melanie in life, the very least Scarlett could do to make some small amends was to see her decently buried. Especially since there was nobody else to do it. Ashley had spent the last three days drifting through the house like a man bewitched. So it was Scarlett who made the funeral arrangements and notified the family and friends, and sent the obituary to the paper. And what would be her reward for all her service on Melanie's behalf? Most likely to be shunned by the townspeople at the funeral. Nobody had talked to her during the days when they made their condolence calls. Scarlett was sure they were speculating how long it would be until she threw herself at Ashley again, now that Melly was out of the way. And once they realized that Rhett was gone for good!-we'll, let them wonder. _She _wouldn't be here. This time tomorrow she would be back home at Tara for good.

While her mistress remained wrapped in her brown study, Prissy, the maid, served the yawning children their breakfasts from trays stacked on the tea cart. Breakfast in bed was not a luxury, however.

"Let them eat in the nursery before they dress. They'll only stain their funeral clothes, otherwise" Scarlett decided.

Little Ella, always a perky riser, ate quickly, then scrambled out of bed and presented her back to Prissy so she could unbutton her nightdress. Scarlett turned from the window to look at her. She was an average sized little girl, nearly seven years old, but a bit on the "skinny" side. She held up her hair with both hands to keep it out of Prissy's way, and as always, Scarlett felt a sense of dismay as she looked at it. It was abundant and wavy, and would have been her best feature, she thought, if it hadn't been that dreadful color, somewhere between dry rust and carrots.

Preternaturally aware of her mother's regard, Ella turned her head and fixed Scarlett with her wide, pale, gray eyes. She was certainly Frank Kennedy's daughter, Scarlett mused, thinking about her second husband. Not pretty in any common definition of the word-just like Frank. Her nose was too small, and her mouth too lopsided. But she was blessed with fair, unfreckled skin, of that translucent quality so common to redheads, that allowed the blue veins to show through. Her facial expression was one of innocent wonderment-Melanie always said Ella had a "sweet air". But to Scarlett's way of thinking, that wondering expression was Ella in a nutshell-and the reason she never failed to be irritated by her daughter. Ella was always _wondering_, never learning. Always asking questions, but never waiting for an answer. Scarlett turned away as the wicked thought rose up once more, as it had many times over the last few weeks-Why? Why had darling baby Bonnie, her youngest child-Bonnie of the raven hair and startling blue eyes-been taken from her, leaving only this odd little ginger-haired scrap? Oh yes, and her brother, Wade. Scarlett got to keep _them_.

Neither of whom seemed to be adequate compensation for Bonnie...

Guiltily and irrationally afraid that Ella might somehow read her thoughts, Scarlett moved quickly across the room to where Wade was sitting on his bed, pulling on the stockings he had left draped over the footboard the night before. He did that every day-laid the stockings out when he retired, then put them on in the morning before he climbed out of bed. Scarlett once asked him why he did that and he mumbled something about the carpets being itchy. That annoyed her and she scolded him, none too gently. Itchy carpets? Fiddle-dee-dee. She then told him to be a little man. But Rhett, hung over and red-eyed, intervened for the boy.

"For God's sake, Scarlett leave him alone," He had growled. "Who cares if Wade wants to put on his stockings before he gets out of bed? It's no skin off your hide if he does. And besides, he's right. These carpets itch worse than the Scotch fiddle."

Scarlett was ready to retort angrily that they were the best carpets money could buy (not to mention that it was extremely vulgar to talk about The Itch to anybody but one's doctor), until out of the corner of her eye she saw an expression in Wade's face that had never been there before. It was a stealthy little look of triumph, although his eyes were kept on his feet. Triumph because Uncle Rhett sided with him. Furthermore, Rhett wasn't somebody she wanted to spar with in those days. Bonnie had only been dead a month, and Rhett was a drunken, sodden stranger. She was a little afraid of him.

Now Wade climbed out of bed in stockings and nightshirt, and reached for the box that contained his new clothes. He would be twelve in a couple months, and didn't like to get dressed when Ella was in the room. Scarlett knew where he was headed with the box-to the closet just off the nursery.

"Wade," she called.

He turned to look at her, his brown eyes mild and gentle as a collie's, and tinged with sadness for his Aunt Melly, which made him look even more tender than usual.

"You're too old to share a room with your sister anymore. Next week we'll move you into your own room." _There is plenty of room at Tara,_ she thought, although she didn't say so out loud.

His eyes flashed, and he almost smiled, grief for Aunt Melly battling a natural pride that Mother could see that he was really and truly growing up. Had Scarlett turned around at that moment, she would have seen a quite different expression on Ella's face. Ella hated sleeping by herself and always felt safer when Wade was around. It wasn't that she believed in bugaboos-of course she didn't, not a big girl like her. But...why take chances? After all, there was safety in numbers, and she didn't even have little Bonnie anymore. And besides, she reasoned, if Wade couldn't fight off the spooks for her-not that she believed in them, of course-but if he couldn't, he was much bigger than herself, and would make a more satisfying meal than she possibly could...


	2. Chapter 2

Erm, yeah—I realized I never put a disclaimer up on my last chapter, and I apologize. Let me state here…I am NOT Margaret Mitchell. I do not own the marvelous _Gone With the Wind _(more's the pity), and again, sorry for all that fuss.

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, (both anons and named), annaPanag, Ondine03, WiwitDM, iris fibronacci, HelenSES, lovinggwtw, Sunny, Me, Pinedoll Redux, Information Hen, Gina CM, and EEEgrl

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The ground at Oakland Cemetery was every bit as spongy as Scarlett feared, and the sky barely brighter at nine o'clock than it had been at sunrise. Not a drop had fallen from the forbidding clouds, and even the fog dissipated. However, even if it had been pouring Scarlett wouldn't have noticed through all her grief. She and her children stood in the front of the crowd, on one side of the grave. Across from them stood Ashley Wilkes and Beau-Melanie's son-and Ashley's sister, India, with Aunt Pittypat leaning on her arm for support, huddled together. The minister stood where the monument would be placed in a few weeks and read from his prayer-book.

It was cold-nearly winter by the calendar-and the mourners shivered in their coats and wraps. Gone were the camellias and roses of summer, the red and green and gold leaves of autumn-only the bare trunks and branches of oaks, magnolias and dogwoods remained, blackened from the incessant damp. As unbearably hot and humid as Atlanta summers could be, in winter the days could-and did-dip below freezing, and even saw the occasional snowfall. It wasn't cold enough for snow on this day, but the raw dampness penetrated everybody's clothes, chilling them through.

At Scarlett's side, Wade swallowed hard and dug his fingernails savagely into his palm to keep from crying. Whatever else happened, he wouldn't break down snivelling in front of this crowd. After all, he was an experienced 11-year-old boy-not some sissy baby. He tried not to think how just a couple months ago he was here for his sister's funeral as he stood between Mother, who was staring stoically at the open grave, and Ella, who crept her hand into his (and for once, he didn't fling her off) and was sniffing into her tiny handkerchief. He glanced at her, then offered up thanks she wasn't wiping her nose on her sleeve, as was her wont.

The days between death and funeral had been painful and tedious, with all the callers who came to the Wilkes' small home. They whispered and murmured and wailed. They brought food and pressed hands and embraced. They reminded Beau that Aunt Melly was with the angels in Heaven. Even Wade received some overflow compassion, for they remembered that he, too, was blood related to Melanie Wilkes. He was her dead brother's son...

Wade and Ella took Beau under their own protection during those days, taking him to Aunt Pittypat's stable to hide, the three of them huddled together in wordless grief, when all the town folks' sympathy became too oppressive to bear.

Then, yesterday, more people arrived. They were the Clayton County folk. Mother sent a telegram to Aunt Suellen about Aunt Melly. Uncle Ashley grew up in the same neighborhood as Mother, but his plantation had been destroyed by the Yankees and he and Beau and Aunt Melly had lived in Mother's home for some time after the War. Wade didn't really remember all that too clearly because Mother married her second husband when he was four years old, but he grew up hearing the stories and sometimes he thought he remembered for himself.

Shifting from one foot to the other, Wade swept his eyes side-to-side slowly so he could see around without actually turning his head and breaking decorum. All the callers from the last few days were here today. Dr. Meade was there, of course, because he took care of Aunt Melly in her illness, and also because he hadn't been called away by anybody inconsiderate enough to think of catching ill or dying during Melanie Wilkes' funeral. And there was his wife, Mrs. Meade-and Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Picard and Mrs. Whiting and so on.

Although he couldn't see them, he knew that in the crowd behind him stood Aunt Suellen's husband, Uncle Will, with the three oldest Benteen children. There was another Benteen cousin, a little baby, but she was sick and Aunt Sue stayed behind at Tara to take care of her. Other neighbors-the Fontaines and the Tarletons-were there too. He wished he could turn around and wave to LIttle Joe Fontaine, but not only would that show exceedingly poor manners, but sure as gun's iron, he and Little Joe would be whipped for carrying on at a funeral.

"I am the Resurrection and the LIfe, sayeth The Lord, " Reverend Wallace prayed from his black book. Uncle Ashley was stony faced, and Cousin India looked catatonic. But Beau looked at Wade in that moment, and bit down hard on his quivering lower lip. Wade glanced away quickly when he felt the lump rising again in his own throat. Beau was trying to be a little man. If he did cry, Wade didn't want to embarrass him by seeing it.

Needing something else to look at, Wade peered sideways at Mother, and realized with surprise that he was now almost as tall as her. In fact, he came up fully to her ear. For the second time that day, he felt a flash of pride and straightened his spine, pulling himself to his biggest height. He even came close to smiling, until he saw Mrs. Meade staring at him in shock. Embarrassed, he looked down, and hoped his expression was appropriately solemn.

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	3. Chapter 3

Margaret Mitchell owns GWTW

Thank you to my lovely reviewers WiwitDM, annaPanag, Ondine03, iris fibronacci, (guest), Joyful Noise 44, Amaranthe Athenais

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After the prayers were said and Melanie eulogized and the dirt thrown on her grave, Scarlett trudged towards the safety of her elegant carriage through the sucking mud that pulled at her boots and hems. An old man, moving painfully with arthritis from the cold damp, met her at the carriage door and detained her with a hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry, Scarlett," he said gruffly, nodding towards the open grave.

"Thank you, Uncle Henry," Scarlett replied graciously, smothering her surprise that he was talking to her. During the days between Melanie's death and now, not one person offered her any sympathy at all.

Not that she expected the town's sympathy. Two years ago Atlanta society was rocked by India Wilkes' accusation that Scarlett had been unfaithful to Rhett with Melanie's own husband. Never mind that Melanie herself staunchly and publicly refused to believe India's story-it was simply too juicy to let go. Two years hadn't been long enough for people to forget. To be sure, some people had received her into their homes-at Melanie's insistence, of course. And when Bonnie died, they made the correct condolence calls, Scarlett was not deceived-she knew it was for Rhett's sake they called. Rhett had the town's sympathies, even though when the callers came he was rarely home. He had taken to driving out the pain of Bonnie's loss with hard liquor and his mistress, Belle Watling.

Perhaps, with the passage of time, and their natural sympathy about the loss of Bonnie, and Scarlett on her best behavior, the townspeople would speak to her again. But in the last three days, the earlier scandal had become mixed up with people's grief when Melanie died-and Scarlett found she was on the outs just like before.

Scarlett took a deep breath, raised her eyes to the grey forbidding clouds. "Your loss is the greater one. She was your niece."

"And she was your sister-in-law."

They stood together in silence, not looking at each other.

"Well anyway," he continued, "There's a legal matter I need to discuss with you. You're not planning to leave town are you? Perhaps to join Captain Butler?"

A crease formed in the inner corner of Scarlett's eyebrow at the mention of that name, but she didn't feel equal to explaining that Rhett left her behind-deliberately, and by his account, forever. She clenched her black handkerchief. "This hardly seems the time or place. I think we could wait a while before vulgar business..." her voice trembled and she cleared her throat.

"If you are going to join Captain Butler, I have a message for him that you must deliver." He interrupted imperiously. He didn't seem to have noticed her discomfiture. "Furthermore, I have to talk to you about the will, now that she's gone because you two were the joint owners of Pittypat's house. We'll go over to my office straightaway after the luncheon."

"Well.." she tried to back away-despite the mud clinging to her hems. "I'm not ready...I'm simply too overcome with grief..."

He ignored her hesitation. "After the luncheon. No excuses."

Scarlett clenched her teeth and glared at him, irritated and rebellious at his high-handed ordering of her. She had never become used to anybody but her mother commanding her, and even at age twenty-eight, she felt fiery resentment towards anybody who tried. "Now listen to me, Uncle Henry. I have done nothing for the last three days but plan this funeral. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I will _not_ go with you to the office, and you _can't_ make me. As soon as the luncheon is over, I am taking Wade and Ella and going home to Tara."

Uncle Henry turned red at her defiance and rocked back on his heels. "Is that so, Missy? And just what do you plan to live on at Tara?"

"Why my-Rhett's-money..." she trailed off at the ironic, pitying look on his face.

"Scarlett, there is no money. You and Captain Butler are penniless."

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	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to my gentle reviewers: copacetic bees knees, Gina CM, Looks Far Woman, Information Hen, annaPanag, iris Fibonacci, HelenSES, and of course, various and sundry "guests"

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With a shaking hand, Scarlett lifted a generous tumbler full of brandy to her lips. Uncle Henry heaped coals on the fire in the cast-iron stove in his law office, shut the little door in front, and clattered the shovel into the bucket. He swung around to face her.

"Haven't you read a newspaper? Listened to gossip?" He boomed as he ran a hand through his hair, nearly making it stand on end. She lifted tragic eyes to him and looked so pale he softened. "But of course, you didn't expect this and you were grieving so after Bonnie. But thunderation, Scarlett-didn't you know there's an economic depression on?"

Scarlett shook her head slowly, confused.

Uncle Henry sighed. He didn't have the patience for this-especially from a smart woman like Scarlett. "It's been going on this entire autumn. Banks have been shutting down all over the country, one by one. Wall Street's been in a panic. Even the Stock Exchange closed-for just a brief time, thankfully. People are using shinplasters again. Industry has come to a standstill-the troubles at the mill were all Ashley talked about before Melanie-"

Scarlett sat up straight. "What troubles-are the mills in trouble?...Never mind-they're not my mills anymore." She abruptly changed the subject. "What about Rhett's bank?"

"'Rhett's bank'? What do you mean 'Rhett's bank'? Rhett doesn't own the bank. Although he had so much money in it he might as well have. Used to have, anyway-wherever in blazes that money is now-because it's disappeared."

Scarlett shook her head, trying to clear the fog from it. "I don't understand-how did this 'depression' happen? How did my-our-money just disappear?"

"How do these things ever happen? Postwar booms don't last forever, and the money market was growing tighter all summer. The signs were there the whole time," He mused. "We just weren't paying attention."

"You know, it seemed like I was seeing more shinplasters lately. I sort of thought that was strange, but I wasn't really paying attention. Shinplasters-just like during the War..."

"As for Rhett's money, large amounts have been transferred from his account, converted into cash. We couldn't stop him. It was his money. I don't know where it is now. Maybe he spent it all. If so, you're penniless."

"I don't know very much about banks, but wouldn't they have asked him why he was taking out so much money?"

"It was his money. He didn't have to account to anybody for anything. And it started so slowly-a little bit more than his usual expenditures, a trickle really, last summer, even before Bonnie died, but when the banks started closing, he started moving big amounts. And not by check or draft-he was withdrawing his own cash money. Where did Rhett say he was going?" Uncle Henry demanded. "You must send a telegram. Or go after him in person."

Scarlett's mouth went dry. "I can't."

"Can't? What in tarnation foolishness is this? You can and you will."

She crossed her arms, glared. "Completely out of the question. So don't think it."

"Haven't you heard a word I said? You have no money. There is no money in the bank. How are you going to support yourself? The children? I know Rhett's taking Bonnie's death hard, but he's not the only man to ever lose a child. It's high time for him to pull himself together and shoulder his responsibilities..."

Scarlett slumped. "He left me," she whispered.

"What?"

"I don't know where he is. He left me."

Uncle Henry sat down and stared at her. He wasn't surprised at their estrangement-it was common knowledge they lived a dog's life together these last months. But it couldn't have come at a worse time.

"Maybe he went to Charleston-that's where his people are. Isn't his mother still alive, couldn't you send a message through her?"

Scarlett's green eyes snapped. "I wouldn't dream of it! I have some pride, you know. And you're wrong, Uncle Henry. I'm not penniless. I have the store, you may recall. I don't need Rhett's money."

"Oh don't you? How are you going to pay the bills on that big fancy house of yours? And the upkeep of Tara? That isn't cheap-Will works hard, but you'd never be able to support the life to which you are now accustomed. How about the children's education? Isn't Wade going to Willoughby's?"

"The Willoughby School, yes."

"And Ella-where is she going?"

"Rhett hired Miss Benson back in May to tutor her..." Her voice trailed off. That was one of the last vestiges of normal domestic life in the Butler household before tragedy came to stay. "She could have enrolled in the infant class at Madame DePierre's Academy last year, but I couldn't see paying all that tuition just so she could learn to curtsey and say 'please' and 'thank you'. I was planning to send her there next year, however, when she would be too old for the infant class and actually learn the three Rs."

"Oh Scarlett. There is no Madame DePierre's anymore. She had to close doors. Folks out of work, they don't have money to send their daughters to fancy schools. Willoughby's is still open, but who knows for how much longer? They're barely holding on now."

"Well then, I suppose there's always the public schools."

"Now you're talking plain nonsense. Tax revenues are skimpy enough for our poor benighted public schools, and now they're even worse with this depression. Don't you see? This problem is bigger than your pride.

"You know Scarlett, when you announced your engagement to Rhett, we all worried for you. He was a scoundrel, a renegade, a war profiteer. But you insisted that you had to marry him. And marry him you did, and ran with the fast crowd he did, and rubbed elbows with Carpetbaggers and Scalawags and thumbed your nose at all your friends from the old days."

"And you were our guest on more than one occasion, I recall."

"Don't ruffle your feathers. I was. For Wade's sake. The memory of Charlie. And even for you, Scarlett, whether you believe it or not. And I did it even when I got criticized for it, and so did Melanie and Ashley and even that fool of a Pittypat. And now, when your family is depending on you to provide for them you sit there and insist you can't you humble yourself to this same man you insisted on marrying? You wont try to mend fences? You wont ask his forgiveness?" As she looked at him, stricken, "Don't give me that puss. You have to admit, you weren't the wife you should have been."

Scarlett leaped to her feet. "You're wrong, Uncle Henry. I _would_ humble myself. In a heartbeat. In fact, I did humble myself, I begged his forgiveness. On my knees I begged! But he told me he was leaving, and he would not be chased like Ashley Wilkes was," She clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified, wishing desperately she could take back that thing she never meant to reveal.

They stared at each other across the desk for a timeless time. Two years ago, India Wilkes did an ugly thing, in his estimation. Made a filthy accusation against one of the finest men Henry had ever known-an accusation against her very own brother! Henry knew little about the inner workings of a woman's mind. He had never even courted a girl. So it was easy for him to dismiss India's accusation as the sick fantasy of a love-starved old maid. He never liked India very much after that incident. And now to find out India's accusation was not entirely baseless...

As a lawyer, he was privy to the private lives of his clients, their scandals and peccadilloes. He'd been a lawyer so long he believed nothing could shock him anymore. He prided himself on his discretion-Henry Hamilton's office was as private as a confessional, and his philosophy was simple. He put in a full day's work, then went home to enjoy the pleasures of his table and sleep a deep, untroubled sleep. Besides, they weren't the scandals of his own beloved family. It was easy for him to keep his distance from other people's troubles. He prided himself on being sensible and unemotional. But he felt a sour, sinking feeling in his stomach at this ugly thing that thrust itself into his family circle.

Hands shaking, he refilled his glass, and hers. "Scarlett. I have to know-I wont be able to help you without all the facts. Did you have a love affair with Ashley Wilkes?"

Scarlett drank down most the brandy in one long swallow. She was half-drunk already, and swaying a little.

"We never did..have...engage in..." She searched for the right word. There was a legal term for it, but all she could think of at the moment were the private terms she and Rhett used in the boudoir, hardly appropriate for now..."Erm. Marital relations?" She blushed deep red, looked at the floor, spoke low. "However, we kissed twice, after he was married. The first time was when he was on furlough. The second was at Tara. Right before I came back to Atlanta and married Frank."

"Did Ashley care for you?" He hated to ask, but he had to be clear.

Eyes downcast, she nodded.

Henry took a deep breath. He didn't realize he had stopped breathing, waiting for her answer. "Not quite adultery, but alienation of affections. A fine mess, just the same. Is Rhett planning to divorce you?"

"No. He said he'd come back occasionally to keep talk down."

A slender hope, but Henry couldn't be choosy.

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	5. Chapter 5

Thank you dear reviewers: Guest(s), AnnaPanag, HelenSES, Amaranthe Athenais, CelloMagnifique300, Chris OHB, Ondine03, iris fibonacci

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That evening, after the last of the funeral guests had gone home, gone to stay with friends or family, or gone to catch the late train (amidst many promises to keep in touch, to write more often, to meet again under happier circumstances) the grief-stricken Wade, Ella, and Beau huddled together in the nursery, listening to the storm. Normally the two boys stuck together, excluding little Ella, but not today. They were all solidarity in a grief too profound to pander to petty boy-and-girl squabbles.

Beau was three years younger than Wade, but they were tied together by blood and common experience. They were both born during the War and they had lived together either in the same house, or very near each other, their whole lives. As aunt to one, and mother to the other, Melanie Wilkes had been the loving mainstay of both boys, and when Ella was born, her maternal care had folded and enveloped the little girl, too.

The black storm clouds had finally made good on their promise-with torrential, flooding rains and swift, sharp and damaging winds. The fury of Heaven seemed unleashed over Atlanta. The children were obliged to stay indoors, but none of them were inclined to play. Even little Ella, holding her favorite doll in her lap, was only stroking its hair absentmindedly, pulling each sausage-curl to its longest length and letting go.

"Wasn't it lucky-or weird-that it didn't start to rain until we were all driving back from the cemetery? As if the weather was sad, just like us..." Commented Beau. He was a bright, imaginative boy, whose inventiveness had been fed by the fairy stories with which his mother regaled him.

Wade fought back the urge to shiver. He was not normally superstitious. He didn't need to be. He already knew how troublesome and cross-grained real life could be, and he saw no reason to fear the Unseen Forces besides. But even he had to admit that there was something uncanny about Beau's observation.

"It's like the sky is crying for Aunt Melly," Ella muttered.

Beau nodded in agreement, but Wade frowned. What sounded plausible coming from Beau, was ridiculous coming from her. Normally he would have made a sharp rebuke and put her in her place, but he was too grief-stricken for sparring. Besides, Beau wasn't bothered by her comment, so he could let it pass.

"What," Beau continued in a whisper, "do you think Heaven's like?"

Wade turned aside a little, considering the question. They were veering into dangerous conversational territory. If he said the wrong thing, they would all start crying, and as the oldest of the trio, he felt that it was his responsibility to comfort the younger children. But he could find little to say.

Artless Ella had no such problem. Her gray eyes grew wide and she leaned forward, crushing the doll's frock under her elbows. She dropped her voice like Beau had done. "Well, Mammy always called it de promise' lan'," And her little voice changed into a perfect imitation of Mammy's accent.

Beau leaned in towards Ella. "Dilcey sings that song about golden slippers and golden streets." Dilcey was the Wilkes' maid.

"So does Mammy," whispered Ella, eyes now like saucers. The Great Beyond was too vast and mysterious to profane by speaking of it in ordinary voices.

Beau's mouth trembled, but he gulped, took a deep breath, and asked, "Do you think she will still recognize us? I mean someday-when we all go to Heaven?"

"Of course she will," Ella replied confidently. "Of course, that is, if we go there and not...well...the other place."

All three children shivered.

"I heard Reverend Wallace say that the saints all wear snowy white robes." Beau added, anxious to change the subject away from Hell.

Scarlett's children were silent. They used to be taken to church until Bonnie died, but only because that was what respectable people did. Neither Mother nor Uncle Rhett ever showed any interest in religion outside church attendance. And apart from Mammy hearing their bedtime prayers and grace before meals, there was little in the way of everyday spirituality in their upbringings. But Melanie had raised up Beau to say his prayers before bed, and grace before meals, besides reading Bible stories to him, and setting him to memorize his catechism. He was much more informed on the subject than his cousins.

"I would like a snowy white robe," Ella said. "It would be the next best thing to a white dress and then I would feel like a bride. And you know what I would like to do? Besides see Aunt Melly, of course, and Bonnie? I'd like to see my father." Ella's father died when she was just a tiny baby. But Mother gave her a picture of him in a frame. Ella kept it in the drawer next to her bed and took it out sometimes to look at it. Uncle Rhett was the only father she had ever known, but that didn't stop her from wondering about the man in the picture. Her "real" father.

"I'd feel like an awful sissy in a white robe," Beau answered. "But I would do it anyway to see Mother again." His voice wavered and he bit down hard on his lip.

"Well, I don't know about the whole 'sissy' part. Reverend Wallace wears a robe, and he's not a sissy," Ella pointed out. "What do you think, Wade? What do you think Heaven's like?"

Wade frowned, while he considered his answer. He too knew all the songs about gold-paved streets and white robes. But he never gave it much thought until Aunt Melly died. Since then, with the days being full of mourners and callers, the only time he had to think all alone was at night when he was tucked into his bed with Ella sleeping quietly across from him.

Wade had lain in his bed at night and thought about the afterlife. Aunt Melly was good. Surely she was in Heaven. But-was it really robes and clouds? Although it was surely a wicked thought, Heaven did seem a little-well-dull. And yet, he couldn't discount what the ministers all said. Or Mammy. Or even Aunt Melly. Or all the good people he knew who wanted to go to Heaven. If they all wanted to go there, then...maybe Heaven was more than robes and clouds. Maybe-and Wade's scalp would prickle at the thought-maybe it was something so vast and incomprehensible that people talked about strumming harps when they really meant this...indescribable...something. Then he would be afraid at his own audacity, questioning the religious teachings of his childhood. With no one to guide him, he didn't realize that his private thoughts meant he was growing up and putting away childish things. He was beginning to outgrow the need for symbols, but didn't realize it. All he knew was that these ruminations made his chest tighten and his head hurt. He was only eleven, after all.

And anyhow he wanted to have a long and exciting life before he died and found out about the afterlife first hand.

"I-I don't know. It's nice, I guess."

Ella snorted scornfully and turned to Beau. "What about the angels? Do you think we'll really get to talk to the angels? Like my father or your mother?"

Wade cringed. How could Ella be so insensitive to keep talking about Heaven with Aunt Melly barely in her grave?

But Beau didn't seem to mind. "I'm not waiting for permission. I'm gonna talk to the angels anyway. Whether we're allowed or not."

"No, Beau! You mustn't act naughty in Heaven," scolded Ella, scandalized.

"I really hope we don't have to wear white dresses." Beau wanted to turn back to his biggest worry. "I'd feel silly wearing a white dress all the time-even if Reverend Wallace does wear one. Even if he calls it a robe. And besides, he doesn't wear it all the time, only at church."

"But if everybody wears them you won't look silly after all. And besides-it would be worth looking funny just to see Aunt Melly, and Bonnie, and my father and Wade's father, and... "

There was a loud thunderclap and all three children jumped, but Wade, who had been uncomfortable with the conversation, took advantage of the situation to change the subject, and fast.

"Look, Beau! Look at Ella's eyes! Big as saucers. Just because of a little thunder," he sneered.

"Not so," Ella protested.

But Wade was more comfortable now they were all back on familiar ground, the boys doing the teasing, Ella being teased. Furthermore, Beau was grinning, and it was fun to have an appreciative audience. "Scaredy girl-'fraid cat-baby!"

"I AM NOT!" And she swung her doll at him, hitting him across the shoulder with a loud smack. As much as she loved her doll, she was careless with her toys. She had too many of them-and they were easily replaced. Uncle Rhett could afford it.

"Ow, hey! I'm telling..."

Ella sprang to her feet and stuck her tongue out at him. "Tell, tell, you smell. I don't care. Who are you going to tell, anyway? Prissy's at the Wilkes' and so is Cookie, so nyah, nyah."

Wade lunged at her, and she danced away, but Beau was even quicker. He leaped up and pulled the black ribbon holding her ginger hair in it's severe braid clean off.

"Give it back!" Ella shrieked. Her hands flew to her hair, which was rapidly unraveling now that it was free. "Give me back my ribbon, Beau Wilkes, or else!"

But Beau was not about to be cowed by any vague threats from some dumb girl. With a chortle of glee, he bounded away from her and off he ran along the edge of the room with Ella in hot pursuit, only pausing now and again to dangle the ribbon just out of her reach. Wade joined in, playing keep-away with the ribbon, and all three children got louder and louder, laughing and shrieking as they played, for even Ella wasn't able to keep from laughing anymore.

The game ended abruptly with the appearance of Scarlett in the doorway. One look at her shocked face, and all three children fell into an abashed silence. "I'm surprised at you," she scolded, "carrying on this way. And Melly only in her grave this morning. You all better settle down, now, or I'll send Beau straight home-I mean it."

Wade and Ella hushed immediately, deeply ashamed. Beau followed their lead. He had a comfortable relationship with his aunt, but it was more due to his easygoing nature than to any effort on her part. Secretly he pitied Wade and Ella for being afraid of their own mother. Beau had been able to run to his own mother with hugs and kisses. But now the awful thought came to him. Who would he hug and kiss now?

"Hand me the ribbon, Beau," Scarlett commanded, and Beau didn't dare disobey. She rebraided Ella's hair clumsily and knotted the ribbon around it. It was Prissy's job to fix hair, and she was the expert at it.

Scarlett gave one last reproachful glance at the three flushed and sweaty children before she swept out of the room, marched down the corridor and collapsed on her bed. The sight of their sad little faces smote her. Maybe it wasn't so awful for them to relieve some of their nervous tension with physical activity, even if it did involve screaming like a bunch of wild Comanches. However, she couldn't go back on her scolding now. Uncomfortably, she thought that Melly would have known how to manage them, and even now, despite everything, the thought that she was less competent then Melanie made her defensive. Scarlett never had time to learn how to care for children, after all. Scarlett had spent years trying to build up her financial security-and theirs, too. She knew she wasn't a good mother, but it wasn't _all_ her fault, she had to work and besides, Wade's shyness and Ella's giddiness grated on her nerves. And weren't they well cared for, regardless? Rhett loved them, and so did Mammy and Melly-and even Prissy was an adequate nurse, despite her lack of gumption. Only now, Rhett was gone back to his people, and Melly was dead and Mammy was back at Tara.

Oh, and their bank account was empty.

Scarlett passed her hand over her eyes. She was so weary...


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you reviewers: princeofalmora and priyankita, Looks Far Woman, z formation, Information hen, EEEgrl, Pinedoll Redux, Guest(s), Ondine03, Christ OHB, lovingwtw

This chapter introduces an OC, bringing a parallel thread to the story. Eventually, everybody's lines cross, however, this is firmly a Wade/Ella/Beau story.

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CHARLESTON, 1873

"Tullia, be a dear and put a few more coals on the fire? That-a-girl..." and with a sigh, Eleanor Butler settled back into her armchair to continue her contemplation of the gunmetal gray sky. What an ugly day for a funeral. Grey sky, grey mood...

"Anything else, Miz Eleanor?"

"No, Tullia. That will be all. We'll have tea at the usual time, of course. But if it rains heavily, I doubt we'll have any callers. It's simply too provoking to have bad weather on my at-home day, but into every life some rain must fall, right, Tullia?"

"Yas'm," Tullia agreed politely with a little bob before she let herself out the door.

Eleanor watched her young servant go. Tullia was a good worker, a good girl-never flirting with the delivery men who came to the back door, never acting in ways unseemly...But what was she thinking about before Tullia? Ah yes. That poor Melanie Wilkes-the sweet, self-effacing little lady from Bonnie's funeral. Scarlett's old sister-in-law. Such a tragic death, Melly's was, so young, and she left behind a husband and a little boy. Pauline was kind enough to tell Eleanor all about Melanie, after she received Scarlett's telegram. The funeral was to be held this very day.

My poor Rhett-how sad he'll be, Eleanor thought. He was so fond of Mrs. Wilkes, always spoke of her so kindly. And how helpful she was during that dreadful time after Bonnie died and Mrs. Wilkes was the only one who could convince Rhett to bury her! How sorrowful he and and Scarlett must be today. I must remember to send a letter of condolence to Ashley Wilkes. I never knew that family very well, they're having their roots in Virginia and all, but I met John Wilkes once. Yes. I must send him a condolence.

She supposed she could also send a condolence to Rhett, but he wouldn't expect one from her. He came to visit her often enough that she could wait until the next time he came. Her poor Rhett, her scapegrace son. That child was an endless source of anxiety for Eleanor. Unable or unwilling to fit in with their society, thrown out of West Point for reasons her husband never fully explained, he earned a living by gambling and prospecting and whatever shady means necessary to stay alive. By the time Fort Sumter was fired upon, he'd made enough money to buy a ship and he proceeded to make a fortune by running goods for the Confederacy through the Yankee blockade. He added to his money through speculation in the last months of the war, then made his fortune even bigger by shrewd investments after the war.

Eleanor knew she should be ashamed of him. He came by his money by no honest-or scrupulous-means, but her mother's heart couldn't turn against him. No matter what he did, he was still her son. No. Eleanor felt plenty of shame, but it came from the memory of how she never stood up to her husband in Rhett's defense. But what could she do? She was a proper Southern woman. Husband came first. And he was a frightening man. He never raised a hand or even his voice to her, but he had that knack of being so cold and unloving when he didn't get his own way, it nearly paralyzed her. Sometimes she thought she could have found the strength to tolerate his coldness, if it had only been directed towards herself. But when he was angry with Rhett, he made her baby, Rosemary, suffer also. It made her life too uncomfortable to bear...

There was a slow knocking at the front door, and Eleanor frowned with annoyance. She wanted visitors, but not now-it was too early. The tea wasn't made yet. Everybody knew when her at-home hours were. Some people could be so inconsiderate.

Tullia slipped into the parlor, bobbed her curtsey, and announced, "Ma'am, Mist' Rhett hyah."

Eleanor nodded automatically, but wait-Rhett?. How could Rhett be here? The funeral was today. Or was it? Did she get the date wrong? Could Pauline have been mistaken...?

But before she could react, Rhett appeared in the doorway. She stood to greet him, then gasped. What happened to her son-her handsome Rhett? Rhett who had always been so big and so muscular, but always impeccably dressed. Surely he couldn't be this shabby stranger, with clothes so tight the buttons strained across his waistcoat, gait slow and fumbling like that of an old man. This bloated, bleary-eyed stranger twisting his hat in his hands could not possibly be her son...

Until he spoke. It was Rhett's voice, hollow and with a ghost of the little boy he used to be, the boy who always ran to bury his face in her skirts when he was hurt by life. It was unmistakably Rhett, and Eleanor's heart broke to hear him.

"Mother," he said wearily, "I've come home."

Then he swayed and turned ashen. Eleanor gave a little shriek as he crumpled to the floor. She rushed to him.

"Doctor-" he gasped. "Don't-tell-anyone I'm here." Then he lost consciousness.

BETHLEHEM, PENNSYLVANIA

1873

The Brodie sisters were such a tight-knit crew that it was nearly impossible for the neighbors to think of them as separate little girls. They ranged in age from ten years old down to two: lined up "in order" they made a true Irish Hill. They worked and played and ate and slept and loved and fought together -and defended each other from all outsiders. At first glance they even looked alike-with their masses of dark brown hair and soft doe eyes. But up close the little differences became apparent-this one was rather freckled, that one's hair was really more wavy than curly. All possessed high, clear voices-the legacy of their mother. And underneath their innocent faces lay forceful and stubborn personalities, the inheritance of their father.

On this afternoon they were playing in the front yard of their spacious, red brick, Second Empire home. It was the most fashionable house on Macungie street, north of the river in Bethlehem, in the state of Pennsylvania, and had been especially built by their father, Sean Patrick for their mother, Annamaria. School was dismissed, homework completed, and they were enjoying the brief interlude before sundown and supper.

The girls were dressed against the cold, bundled up in coats with hats, mufflers and mittens knitted by Maman and their maid. The weather on this day was windy and cloudy, although no rain had fallen yet, and the sky had a most unearthly, almost greenish hue. The girls had no way of knowing that they were experiencing the outer edge of severe storm taking place "away down South in Dixie", and if they had known, only studious Marge, the eldest of the Brodie tribe, would have found that fact even mildly interesting. But all five girls were infected by a jittery restlessness caused by the strange weather.

Marge presided over the group, sitting on the top step of the front porch with her embroidery in her lap, and wearing (by especial permission) her mother's fingerless lace gloves so she could ply her needle. She usually took to this craft with joy, loving that she could make beautiful pictures out of nothing more than colored silks. But today she was careless, either placing her stitches too far apart so she would have to pull them all out, or else daydreaming, staring into space with the needle pushed halfway through the taut cloth.

Eight-year-old Jane and four year old Katie sat in the grass on either side of front walk with a chalk circle drawn between them and numerous marbles inside the circle. The youngest girl squatted beside the circle and looked on the game with frustrated longing. She was forbidden to play, because they all feared that Baby Ann would try to eat the marbles and choke-a well-founded fear because even now she was utterly entranced by the smooth, colorful spheres.

Katie cast occasional admiring glances over her shoulder at the last remaining sister who was currently climbing the apple tree. The tree climber was the daredevil of the family, the one who tried to play ball with the boys, the one who always managed to look grubby five minutes after being let out to play. At this moment she was walking along one of the branches, "no hands"-and no mittens, for that matter, for she had slipped them off and allowed them to dangle on the end of the string that was threaded through her coat sleeves so she couldn't lose them-and all the while wiggling her very first loose tooth with her tongue.

"It's your turn," Jane after she took her shot. She was pleased with herself because she knocked three marbles out of the circle. But to her indignation, Katie hadn't even seen this amazing feat of marbles prowess! Jealous that Katie's attention wasn't on her, she hollered, "Marge, Marge! Look what Marybeth is doing!"

Marge looked up from her embroidery, first to the tree-climbing culprit-who was looking back at her defiantly-and then to the tattletale. She sighed with annoyance. Jane and Marybeth were forever squabbling-it was really quite provoking. Certainly Marybeth needed to be corrected, but so did Jane's tale-bearing. "Say, see what Marybeth is doing, Jane," she replied calmly.

"See what Marybeth is doing," Jane complied through gritted teeth. Marge's "older sister" airs were hard to take sometimes.

Satisfied that she had performed her sisterly duty towards Jane, Marge than called out, "Marybeth, dear. Don't walk along the branches."

Marybeth lowered herself to a sitting position on the branch, and stuck her tongue out at Jane.

All the girls resumed their play and they enjoyed a peaceful two minutes until Jane cried out again. "Mar-ar-arge! Now see what Marybeth is doing!"

Marge sighed and looked up. Marybeth was dangling upside down from the branch, holding on by her knees. She'd unbuttoned her coat for ease of movement, and now her dress and pinafore and petticoats were flying up in her face. "Really, Marybeth come down from there right now. That's dangerous and unladylike. Oh, and button up your coat before you catch your death."

Marybeth flashed a look at Jane that did not bode well for her rival, but she knew better than to disobey Marge. Maman had put her in charge, and her word was law. Marybeth started swaying back and forth upside down. She really had every intention of coming down, but she was currently working on a trick-swing back and forth, then with enough momentum she would let go her legs and land on the ground gracefully on her feet (after a flip in the air, of course). Just last week she had watched with rapt admiration as one of the big boys in the neighborhood had executed that very trick. The only trouble was, she hadn't perfected her technique yet. This time she let go her legs and landed face down on the ground with a resounding thud that knocked the wind out of her.

"Marybeth-Maria Elisabetta! Are you hurt?" Marge called from the porch, although she wasn't overly worried. Her little sister was forever getting into scrapes, but she had nine lives like a cat.

Slowly, gasping and coughing, Marybeth raised herself to her hands and knees. Suddenly she stopped, a look of surprise on her face. Frantically she patted the ground as if looking for something. And then-success! She bounced to her feet and ran up the walkway to Marge with an air of triumph.

Pausing only long enough to spit a glob of blood and saliva over the railing and wipe her sleeve across her face, she showed Marge her treasure. "My tooth! My first lost tooth!" And with that she grinned broadly, showing off the gap where the tooth had been.

Katie, who admired Marybeth immensely, ran up and looked at her mouth with awestruck eyes and clasped hands, but Jane scoffed. "So you lost a tooth. That's nothing special. Everybody loses teeth some time or another. Besides, I lost my first tooth when I was five, and so did Marge and you're all of six."

That comment stung, but Marybeth shrugged her shoulders and tossed her head. "Maman says we are all as God made us."

"She just said that to make you feel better," Jane retorted. "Only a baby starts losing teeth when she's six."

With a little screech of rage, Marybeth flew at Jane, fists at the ready, but Marge was faster-and conscious of the danger of fist fighting on the steep front steps. Catching Marybeth around the waist, Marge hoisted her up onto the porch by main force and let go, sending the younger girl sprawling. Marybeth sat up quickly and checked her hand. She hadn't lost the tooth in the scuffle.

"Shame on you, Marybeth-raising your hand to your sister," Marge scolded. "Now go inside the house and tell Hildy I said you were to wait until Maman comes home." Then she softened. "And you may have an envelope from Maman's desk to put your tooth in. You can leave it for the fairy Fatina to bring you coins." And she smiled at her younger sister.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you reviewers EEEgrl, Pinedoll Redux, Looks far Woman, annaPanag, HelenSES, Chris OHB, Guest, lovingwtw, Ondine03

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A note about OC's: OC's can be very tricky to write, and very easy to turn into plot zombies. My OC's will make the occasional (50% of the time) appearance, the readers will be able to tell if it's a chapter with them in it or not (which is why I write the setting and time of each chapter), and above all, this remains firmly a Wade/Ella/Beau story.

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ATLANTA

1873

The day after the funeral dawned offensively, shockingly bright. Scarlett squeezed her eyes against the piercing light, rubbing them with her fists. She had drunk herself into insensibility the previous night and this morning she was paying the price for her folly. No matter how bad her headache, how stomach-rolling her nausea, there was no help for it but to keep her appointment with Uncle Henry this morning. She didn't put it past him to fetch her himself and drag her bodily to his office. She sighed and reached for the brandy bottle for a hair of the dog that bit her.

Groomed, gargled with cologne, and decently attired in black, she arrived at the law office, only to find, to her horror, that Ashley was summoned, too.

They nodded frigidly to each other and took their seats across the desk from Uncle Henry.

Scarlett was sick with worry over what he now knew about her and Ashley. Was he going to make a scene? Call Ashley out on Melanie's behalf? Yell at them? Like a scared, guilty child, she searched his face for a sign of condemnation or scorn.

But Uncle Henry treated them both with the same, brusque, businesslike manner he used with all his clients.

"The reason I brought you here today is to discuss the matter of the Hamilton house. You will recall that after Charlie's death it became the joint property of Melanie and you," he nodded to Scarlett. But now that Melanie is deceased, her half of the property reverts to Ashley. As soon as the papers are signed, I can file them, and it will be legal and proper. "

Was that all? Scarlett nodded, relieved. She would sign any document Uncle Henry put in front of her, and then she, Wade, and Ella would be on the train to Tara before nightfall.

"I'm ready to sign," she said, and Ashley nodded.

Uncle Henry's eyes narrowed. "Well now, we seem to have a bit of a problem. You see, Scarlett, your property transferred to the custody of Captain Butler when you married him. You can't sign this document. He is the only one who can."

Scarlett's eyes opened wide. Uncle Henry led her into a trap-right in front of Ashley. What was he thinking? Was he hoping to reveal her awful secret-that Rhett had left her-in front of Ashley? The thought came unbidden-although she didn't want Ashley anymore, it was a pretty poor showing that her former lover was now a respectable widower, and she was nothing more than a deserted wife. She gritted her teeth. Couldn't Uncle Henry have left her the least little scrap of dignity to cover herself?

"So all you need to do," he spoke casually, as if there were no impediment in the world, "is have him sign. Of course, when he comes home from his _business trip,_ he and Ashley can come see me in my office and have the documents signed."

Scarlett put on a well-bred sneer-just like the one Grandma Robillard wore in her portrait. "Of course he can."

It was all too unfair. _Ashley is as guilty as I am, and yet, he gets the town's sympathy and I get a bushel of humiliation._ In that moment, she wanted to murder Uncle Henry. She wished he would drop dead before her very eyes. Drop right in front of her and then she would laugh and even give his body a kick...

"But wait." She frowned, held up one black- gloved hand. "Isn't the house already in..." she choked over the name, "Ashley's name? Then we don't need to sign any new papers." And she sat back, smiling triumphantly at Uncle Henry.

"I signed the property over to Melanie several years ago," Ashley replied.

"You did! Well I never knew this."

"Rhett Butler knew. I suppose he never told you."

Pushed beyond endurance, her voice went up, "Why ever did you do such a thing?"

"I felt that Melanie should have property of her own. It seemed unfair that the law gave everything to me, just because I was the husband. And we shared everything, anyway. I never thought it would be a problem, later. Besides," he turned his attention to Uncle Henry, "before I signed it over to Melly, I always planned to sign it over to Beau when he reached his majority." He spoke with the same, comfortable ease with which he was accustomed to speak to his wife's uncle. This was nothing more than a legal matter. Unemotional. Men's business. Scarlett surmised Ashley wasn't aware that Uncle Henry knew everything. She was considerably less at ease than Ashley, and very resentful of that fact.

"I didn't know you were such a suffragist," she sneered.

His head reared back at the taunt, but looked directly at Uncle Henry when he spoke.

"Believe it not, Scarlett, a woman can do masculine things-like owning property-without completely unsexing herself."

Uncle Henry watched this exchange, watched Scarlett turn white with rage at Ashley's retort and grew completely disgusted with both of them. If he'd had the least bit of doubt about Scarlett's confession of their affair, it was gone now. He'd seen it many times, and it was cliché unto dreariness-that the lovers who were the most passionate in the beginning of their love wound up tearing each other to pieces with the cruelest weapons when the sentiment faded.

"That is enough," he barked. He fixed a stern eye on the two miscreants-Scarlett squirmed, but Ashley was genuinely bewildered.

"Scarlett, you contact _your husband _as soon as possible. Ashley, you will await word from me." He stood up to indicate this meeting was over.

Ashley stood up, all drowsy-eyed dignity. "I have to go back home now. I have a son who's missing his mother." He shook hands with Uncle Henry and bowed to Scarlett.

When she heard the front door shut, she rounded on Uncle Henry. "I don't know what you're trying to do. Shame me? Punish me for Ashley? Congratulations. My humiliation is complete. Does that make you happy?"

"Why would it make me happy? This matter has to be settled, and soon. I'm an old man, Scarlett. I want to see my family settled before I die."

"Oh, this stupid property-just give it to Ashley. I don't care!"

"Would you deprive Wade of his inheritance?"

"Wade will get Tara someday."

"Didn't you hear a word I said? What you refer to as _your property_ actually belongs to your husband. Tara also belongs to Captain Butler."

Her eyes opened wide. "My store?"

"Belongs to Captain Butler."

"Ohhh." She stamped her foot.

"While you're certainly free to let loose your temper, may I remind you that you were the one who made this mess? Find your husband. Make him reconcile with you. Use your feminine wiles, whatever you must. He has full legal control over your real estate and your finances. If he gets a notion to, he can sell off these properties, you know."

The air left her lungs in a sudden gust. "What are you saying?"

"That you have no legal leg to stand on. That your only chance for survival is to make him take you back."

She lifted her hands helplessly. He wouldn't sell my-these properties-he..." She cast about. "He loves Wade and Ella and wouldn't see them destitute."

Henry shrugged. "You know more about it than I do, but I've seen Captain Butler

behave mighty strangely lately. Did you ever expect him to break like he did after Bonnie's death? Did you ever expect him to leave you like this? Who knows what freak he'll take next? I'm afraid you don't have too many choices."


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you gentle reviewers Looks Far Woman, Chris OHB, princeofalmora and priyankita, guest(s), HelenSES, iris fibonacci, CelloMagnifique300, Dixie Cross, Ondine03

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A/N sorry I haven't been keeping up with correspondence—have been busy planning, having and cleaning up after a mid-summer party…

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Pinched and pale, stray hair straggling from her bun, Scarlett stomped around her bedroom, packing her large steamer trunk. Penniless or not, landless or not, she was going to brook no further delays. She was going home to Tara. Today.

Her plan was largely secret, however-she only told two people. The first one was her brother-in-law, Will, in whom she confided before Melanie's funeral. She did not tell him about Rhett-she wanted him to believe her visit was purely because she was mourning Melanie and Bonnie.

Will didn't waste time in asking a passel of foolish questions. He looked at her with those wise, understanding eyes of his and said, "You need it, Scarlett. You need time to get better."

"Why Will, I'm not sick."

"Yer heart sore. You come on home. Bring Wade and Ella and come home."

The second person who knew was Uncle Henry.

She hadn't told anybody else (except Prissy, but Prissy hardly counted) because she wanted to make a clean break with her past life, and all its painful memories. Her plan was to shrug off as many of her ties as she decently could, to leave her free to figure how to rebuild her life and try to get Rhett back. In her fevered longing for Tara, she thought she understood how Eve must have felt exiled from Eden.

Scarlett was like a desperate, caged animal, with no other thought than _escape_. She had utterly forgotten how she promised Melly on her deathbed to take care of Ashley and Beau. All she could think of-in dread-was what her inevitable course was. If she were to be able to keep Tara in security, she would have to face Rhett, and sooner than she had wanted.

But it was a ticklish thing to search for Rhett. She knew she needed to give him some time to mope and sulk before she could approach him again. She knew he was serious about not wanting to be pursued. Before Uncle Henry delivered his fatal news she had had a vague idea that she would wait for Rhett to come back "to keep talk down", as he phrased it, then whatever plans and schemes she had decided on could be put into motion then. And what were these plans and schemes? She had no idea-that was what her trip to Tara was supposed to be-a quiet time to think and plan.

But even if she must find Rhett, and quickly, nobody was going to stop her from going home to Tara first. She _would_ spend Christmas there, she decided-no reasonable person would begrudge her _that-_then after the holiday she would leave to find Rhett.

She was damping down the contents of the trunk with both hands when a trembling Prissy brought the telegram. The Negro woman had never gotten over her fright at the sight of those familiar flimsy white envelopes ever since the War. And although she had never learned to read, the messenger told her who the sender was-and she knew it was no good news.

"Telegram from Mist' Will."

Scarlett's knees started to buckle. _Oh God, no... _"No. No. No. No." She snatched the telegram from the shrinking Prissy and read out loud:

"DIPTHERIA HERE. DO NOT COME.

"NO!"

Scarlett threw herself on the bed in a fit of rageful tears. _Why me? These things always happen to me! Here I am, stuck in Atlanta, where everybody hates me. Rhett hates me. Uncle Henry tortures me._

She surrendered to a delicious tantrum, dignity utterly forgotten. She kicked and thrashed. Punched the pillows and tore at the sheets, howling loudly and putting her maid in a panic.

_This is just like in the war when I wanted to come home and everybody had typhoid and when I did get home, Ma was dead..._

She sat up.

"Mammy!" _What if Mammy has diphtheria? What if she dies, just when I need her most? Just like Mother died when I needed her most?_

"Mammy hab de diphtheria? Oh, Miz Scahlett, dat's bad!"

Scarlett stared at Prissy, her mouth an O of astonishment. "What...? Ooohh why are you so stupid? Or is this all a performance for my benefit?" And she threw a fancy little pillow at her face.

Prissy sidestepped the poorly aimed missile, and then flew to pick it up lest she incur even more wrath. She stood facing her mistress and twisted the pillow in her hands.

"We ain't gwine to Tara, is we?"

"No." Scarlett punched her pillow. "If I know that fool of a Doctor Fontaine, he'll have quarantined the house by now...oooooh."

She threw herself face down crying and refused to get up.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks, reviewers! Dixie Cross, Looks Far Woman, HelenSES, Chris OHB, annaPanag, princeofalmora and priyankita, Amaranthe Athenais, lovingwtw, RMB

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That evening, Wade and Ella, who had been playing at combat with Beau in the ballroom and didn't hear the commotion from their mother's room, ate dinner alone in the kitchen.

"Your maw has a headache." Prissy explained.

But Scarlett was to have many such "headaches" in the following days. Without the funeral to plan, and with the addition of her pressing legal matters to think about, and no hope of going to Tara for weeks or even months, Scarlett fell into a state of near collapse. She lay in bed with eyes half-shut as her mind plodded in tired circles around three things. Bonnie. Melanie. Rhett. It was all she could do anymore to get out of bed in the morning, all she could do to get dressed. At first she made a show of coming to the breakfast and supper table to eat with Wade and Ella, but for the rest of it, she stayed in her room and slept or cried.

Only Prissy knew that Scarlett was sustaining herself on brandy and whiskey, drinking harder than she ever had before, in search of blessed oblivion. And one morning, right before Christmas, she went into Scarlett's room help her dress. She opened the curtains and waited for Scarlett's usual chorus of moans and complaints about the sun shining in her eyes, but there was no response.

Scarlett was lying face down in her bed. Prissy rushed to her side and laid a hand on her mistress' shoulder. There was no response. Scarlett had been sick in the night and Prissy gagged on the smell. However, she was warm, and breathing, albeit raggedly.

Faster than she ever moved before, or would ever move again, She raced to the banister out on the landing and screamed, "Pork!".

Pork appeared in the foyer.

"Gawd'lmighty Pork-fetch Dr Meade. It's Miz Scahlett. She powerful sick-she not wakin' up!"

"She breathin'?

"Yas-go!"

Pork flew from the room, despite his arthritic joints. Behind Prissy, two doors opened and two children ran to their mother's room. Wade (who had moved his effects to one of the spare rooms) got there first, and paused in the doorway.

"Mother?" He called. And when there was no response, he shrieked, "Mother!" And tried to run to her bedside. But Prissy was faster. Grabbing his arm in a bruising grip, she swung him out into the hall, where he collided with a gaping Ella.

"Don' needer of you be messin' in grown folks' bizness." And she slammed the door, shutting herself in with Scarlett. The children heard the key turn in the lock.

Ella scrambled to her feet as Wade rubbed his sore arm.

"And then there were none," Ella whispered.

"What?"

"Oh Wade, you _know. _That song about the ten little Indians, and they disappeared one by one. That song is _just like _our family." She started counting on fingers. "First Bonnie, then Mammy, Uncle Rhett, Aunt Melly..." A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Mother."

Wade didn't like the look of her in that moment. Her face was starting to turn red and swollen in preparation of a big cry, but her lips were white and she was trembling on her little legs poking out of the bottom of her nightdress.

He tried to take charge, to appear masterful, to allay her fears.

"Ella, you are too big to believe in a silly nursery song. Don't you remember when Uncle Rhett told us how songs and stories are only for make-believe, and that we mustn't be frightened? How he said nothing in a story could possibly hurt us? You believe Uncle Rhett, don't you?"

Ella looked at him, her eyes contemptuous. "Where _is _Uncle Rhett?" And she ran downstairs, where he could hear her footsteps in the kitchen and out the back door. In her nightclothes.

Wade waved his hands helplessly. There'd be the devil to pay if the neighbors saw Ella running around barely dressed, but he couldn't just leave his mother's sickroom. Somebody had to be the man of the house. Somebody had to be here to greet Doctor Meade. And, unbidden and unwelcome, came the tiniest kernel of bitterness towards Uncle Rhett.

Horrified, he tried to push the disloyal thought away. Uncle Rhett was his hero. To Wade he seemed the manliest of men, who fought in the War, and even got a scar-a great big one!-Wade had seen it with his own eyes. He was big, and strong and masterful-everything Wade aspired to be. But more important than all that were the thousand kindnesses Uncle Rhett had done for him over the years. The presents, the attention...Uncle Rhett was never too busy to talk to him, and he always talked to him in an easy, man-to-man fashion that Wade found very flattering. Even after Bonnie was born, and she was his "real" daughter, he still had time for him, and for Ella.

He went and sat on the top step to await the doctor.


	10. Chapter 10

Thanks reviewers!—Looks Far Woman, BrittanyPmouse, fillesauvage, lovingwtw, Gina C M, Information hen, annaPanag, copecetic bees knees, Chris OHB, CelloMagnifique300, guest, iris fibonacci, A girl named sue, Dixie Cross, Helen SES

Am uploading this on Sunday instead of my usual Monday because I'm going on vaction to the mountains…woot!

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Dr. Meade wasted no time on greetings or preliminaries. He examined Scarlett quickly while Pork and Wade waited decently on the other side of the door.

"Prissy, where's Captain Butler?"

"He gone."

"Gone where?"

But Prissy could only shrug helplessly.

"Well, I would prefer Mammy-she's an excellent nurse-but with her at Tara, I suppose you'll have to do. But we need to notify somebody in her family." He furrowed his brow, snapped his fingers.

Dr. Meade opened the door a crack. "Pork, run and fetch Henry Hamilton." Then he slammed the door and turned to Prissy. "What we need to do will be neither comfortable for Scarlett, nor pleasant for you to watch. You must follow my instructions exactly. Do you understand?"

"Yassuh."

He rolled up his sleeves. "Bring me my medical bag."

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Wade was gone when Pork came back with Uncle Henry in tow. Dr. Meade came to the door, slipped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him, leaving Prissy in attendance.

"It would appear that Scarlett drank a vast quantity of whiskey at one time. It acted like a poison and nearly killed her," he explained to both of them. Although his words were directed at Uncle Henry, he saw no reason to hide this information from Pork. After all, he was a trusted family retainer for many years, and had taken care of Scarlett's father. He was more than a family retainer. He was family.

"I used to rely on Melanie for help whenever Scarlett was sick in the past, but now she's gone. The point is, Scarlett will need care and attention for the next several days, definitely through Christmas. I thought to send the children to Tara, but Pork here informs me the Benteens have taken the diphtheria."

"She _can't_ go home to Tara?" Uncle Henry asked Pork, who shook his head slowly.

"...and, I am reluctant to send them to the Wilkes' because Dilcey already has her hands full with Ashley and Beau..."

Uncle Henry sighed and pulled his beard. "I can't take care of them at my hotel...wait. Why not send them to Pittypat and India? Wade is set to inherit half that house, anyway."

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice that made Dr. Meade raise an eyebrow. "Then do it. I must go back to Scarlett.

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Uncle Henry searched the house and grounds for a full half hour before he found the children huddled together behind the stable. Wade was decently attired in coat, hat, and mittens, but Ella was wrapped in a stained, smelly horse blanket. When she stood up, he saw to his horror she was still wearing her nightdress-with bare feet, besides.

"Young lady, are you trying to catch your death of pneumonia?"

Her lip quivered and she started to sob. "I don't want to die!-did Mother die? I don't want to disappear and die like they did in the song."

"What in Tarnation...?"

"Please, Uncle Henry. She's been acting like this all day. She won't be consoled."

"Your mother isn't dead. But she is sick, and you can't stay here because you'll only get underfoot. I'm taking you both to Aunt Pittypat's for a few days." He sighed. "I was hoping not to take you back into the house. I wanted to bundle you two into the carriage and take you directly to Pittypat's. Then Prissy could bring your clothes tonight,". He was thinking out loud now. "But there's no way I can drop you on the doorstep looking like _that._" And in spite of himself, his lips twitched at the thought of India Wilkes' reaction if he did deposit this uncombed, half-naked little savage at her door.

Hastily wiping his grin away, he turned to Wade. "I'm depending on you, son. We will go back to the house, and Ella and I will wait downstairs in the library. I need you to pack two bags, one with your duds, one with hers. And bring her something to wear during the buggy ride, besides."

Wade was beside himself with joy at being able to be useful. "Yes, sir."


	11. Chapter 11

Hey dear readers, although I'm sorry to be back from vacation, I'm glad to see everybody's fics!

Thank you for the reviews, lovingwtw, ChrisOHB, Dixie Cross, princeoffalmora and priyankita, HelenSES, guest, BrittanyPMouse, Aramanthe Athenais, fillesauvage, Gina CM, Bonnie Blue, Pinedoll Redux, copacetic bees knees, Looks Far woman, CelloMagnifique 300

A/N As far as I know, Dilcey came with the Wilkeses (Chapter XLI) to Atlanta after the War, and it seems like she stayed there, because in Melanie's {SPOILERS AHEAD} death scene (LXII), Dilcey is with the other servants, holding Beau. I just assumed she was there the whole time…

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With the children safely deposited and decently dressed, although still uncombed-there being no woman available to do it-at his sister's home, Uncle Henry drove back to Scarlett's house slowly, chewing his lower lip and listening to the soothing _clip-clop _of hooves on cobblestone.

When he arrived, Pork ushered him into the library, where he had thoughtfully built a fire in the grate. Henry eased himself into the closest armchair to the fire and poured himself a brandy to loosen his joints.

_I am much too old for this excitement. Me, Sarah Jane, Dr. Meade...even Pork and Uncle Peter. When did we become the older generation? And when did the generation behind us become so childish? Imagine Scarlett, Rhett and Ashley, as old as they are, behaving like foolish love-struck youths. Dear God, I miss Melanie-the smartest one in the bunch..._

Dr.Meade met him in the library.

"The children are at your sister's? How did the ladies take the two new additions to their household?"

"Oh, Pittypat was fatuously pleased to have children in the house again, but I suspect India did not share her enthusiasm. Of course, India never had any children of her own, and Pitty is really rather helpless where children are concerned, although she imagines herself to be quite capable. India will take good care of them, no worry, for it is her Christian duty, and Wade is her cousin, but she won't enjoy it. Pittypat will probably spoil them a little bit and believe she has done _much _for them."

"Did you tell them what happened?"

Uncle Henry shook his head, remembering the bad blood between India and Scarlett. "I didn't wish to upset them. Or provide fodder for the gossip mill. How is Scarlett?"

Dr. Meade shook his head. "Lucky that Prissy found her in time. Otherwise, we would have been dealing with a coroner."

Uncle Henry's eyes flew open. "You don't believe this deliberate! Suicide is an ugly word. Was she really trying to kill herself?"

"I am very reluctant to suspect it. It's a scandal and it leaves a stain on the family left behind. Scarlett is a strong woman and knows how to carry a heavy load. There is much I don't approve of in her, but she has a great deal of fortitude. But...perhaps her strength ran out. I hope it was only an unfortunate accident."

Uncle Henry went to look out the window, although it was past sunset. Lights glittered in the nearby houses.

"I'm afraid I bear a great deal of responsibility for Scarlett's condition." He turned and looked at the doctor. "I'm only telling you this because you're her doctor, and this may shed some light on the subject. You see, it came out during a confidential legal consultation that Captain Butler left her. I pushed her to find him, even though the circumstances between them are enormously difficult. I even tried to manipulate her in the presence of a third party. I believed it was for her own good. I underestimated her strength. If she _had_ taken her own life, it would have been all my fault."

"Nobody can make another person do away with themselves. Even a doctor can't prevent a suicide, if it becomes an _idée fixe_. It comes down to an individual decision."

"Yes, but maybe she had too many tragedies and with no way to escape to her beloved Tara...she's only a woman, after all."


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks to my reviewers: BrittanyPmouse, RhodeIsland, Looks Far Woman,

z formation, iris fibonacci, fillesauvage, annaPanag, EEEgrl, Pinedoll Redux, lovingwtw, GUEST, VanillaMostly, Dixie Cross, Amaranthe Athenais, HelenSES

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And so the old year ended cold and wet, and the new year started cold and wet. Cold and wet and with very little promise. Scarlett recovered from her "poisoning". Christmas came and went barely noticed by the adults, although Santa Claus (in the guise of Uncle Henry) did his duty by the children. But Beau, in the fresh throes of grief, barely took note of the cunning little cast iron horse-and-Conestoga-wagon or his new fishing pole. Ella received yet another doll, which she played with dutifully when adults were watching her (she was afraid that stern Cousin India would scold her for being wicked and ungrateful, otherwise), and Wade read, without comprehending, the newest _Upward and Onward book_ by Oliver Optic.

By the middle of January, Scarlett was recovered enough that the children moved back home. But what should have been a happy occasion for them was marred for Ella by her increasing conviction that _Uncle Rhett was not coming home. _

Despite what Wade told her, the nursery song was coming true. They told her Mother was getting better, but when she was allowed in to see her every night after dinner, she was so pale and withdrawn, that to Ella she didn't seem to be very long for this world. Oh, she nodded when the children talked to her, said one or two words, and smiled at them-although it looked as if smiling caused her pain.

She originally believed the story she was told about Uncle Rhett going away on some business trip, but if that were true, why did he not come home when Mother was so sick? Why didn't he come home for Christmas? Uncle Rhett never missed Christmas.

She was hiding behind the dining room door one afternoon when Wade came home from school. He had just put down his satchel and was hanging up his cap on its hook in the foyer when she pounced.

"Uncle Rhett is never coming back," she declared.

Wade's eyes were wary, but he looked over the tip of his nose at her. "Is that right? And just where do you think he is?"

Actually, she hadn't thought about that. So, she improvised. "Maybe he got lost. Maybe he took the wrong ship."

"Ship?" He contorted his face into a sneer. "Where do you think he went?"

"Well, the wrong train, then. Or he took a stagecoach to Out West."

"Don't you think he'd figure out he was on the wrong stage when it reached the first stop-and it was moving in the wrong direction?"

"Noooo...not if he got scalped by wild Indians, and there was blood, and they bashed his brains out."

Wade was appalled. "That's gruesome. Little girls shouldn't be so bloodthirsty."

"It's only bloodthirsty if I _wanted_ that to happen, which I _don't._"

Wade turned away. "Well, all that proves is you're a very silly little girl. Uncle Rhett is on a business trip, and that's that."

"...Or he ran away. From Mother and us."

Wade stiffened across the shoulders and his hands fumbled until he dropped his coat. He snatched it from the floor.

"Ella, that's a wicked thing to say. Uncle Rhett would never leave us. You should be ashamed of yourself for doubting him, after everything he's done for us. And don't go telling any of this nonsense to Mother and upsetting her. Or you'll answer to me, hear?" He hung up his coat, grabbed his books and stomped up the stairs.

Ella watched her brother go, and was more frightened than ever. Not at his anger and vehemence-but that during his entire tirade, he never looked her in the eye. Not once. Wade _lied _to her, deliberately lied. Wade never lied to her before in her entire life.

But now she knew. Uncle Rhett was not coming back. Wherever he was, he wasn't coming back...

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Henry Hamilton was a man with an exceedingly sore conscience. Despite Dr. Meade's assurances that he was not at fault for Scarlett's suicide attempt, and that she would indeed recover, Henry felt great remorse for his part in the whole ugly affair. He was old; he was feeling the weight of his own mortality. Wade Hampton was his nephew, after all, and despite Charlie's being dead all these years, he felt a great responsibility to Scarlett, also.

He suffered fools badly, and expected a man to stand on his own two feet, and with Scarlett's behavior since the War ended, he saw her as one of the men, more often than not. But his ingrained sense of chivalry awakened when Scarlett had her crisis, and his sense of responsibility reasserted itself.

He went to see Scarlett when she first was able to receive visitors, but when she saw him, she shrank back and turned her face to the wall. It was at that moment he realized she simply didn't have the stamina to hunt for Rhett Butler.

There was only one thing he could do. He rose from his comfortable armchair and began to pack.

On his way to the train station, he stopped at the home of his good friend, Dr. Meade.

"With your rheumatism? Traveling this time of year will kill you. You're not getting any younger."

"Some comfort you are," Uncle Henry replied with a grin.

Dr. Meade sighed and tucked a bottle of laudanum into his friend's satchel. "Just in case."


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you reviewers!-Looks Far Woman, Guest(s), z formation, BrittanyPmouse, RhodeIsland, Pinedoll Redux, fillesauvage, Miss Sincerely, ChrisOHB, Amaranthe Athenais, iris fibonacci, Diana

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CHARLESTON

1873

"Dropsy," the doctor declared as he plucked the stethoscope from his ears. "I will prescribe digitalis for him, Mrs. Butler, and you must see to it that he takes it. He must be fed lightly. No wine, no meats, no sweets. Keep his cigars away from him. Some physicians believe that salty foods will make this condition worse. I don't entirely believe that, but you may try if you like. I will also prescribe a diuretic. But above all, he must be kept peaceful. Nothing must be allowed to upset him. There is damage to his cardiac tissue. You mustn't allow anything to anger or provoke him."

Eleanor, terrified, agreed to all his demands.

"He is married, is he not? You must send word to his wife."

"He is. But he told me not to tell anyone he's here. That was his final word to me before this," she gestured towards the bed.

"In that case you better not risk it. I doubt he wouldn't want his own wife to know about his condition, but you can always ask him when he wakes up. But ask him gently. I also suggest that as soon as he is strong enough, you send him on a trip-you recently had a death in the family."

"My dear little granddaughter, yes." She wiped a tear from her eye.

"Send him someplace where he can rest and recuperate without any unpleasant associations."

After she showed the doctor to the door, she went back upstairs to resume her vigil by his bed. She was picking at a supper tray Tullia brought when Rhett started to stir. His eyes fluttered open. "Mother."

"I'm here, Son."

"Did I just collapse?"

She nodded. "The doctor was here-you must take your ease now."

"Was it my heart?"

"You knew?"

"I was having pains on the train..."

"The doctor gave you something-Morphine, maybe? Opium?-He said it would make you comfortable, but sleepy. He also gave you digitalis to strengthen your heart."

Satisfied that he was right, and comfortable from the drugs, Rhett went back to sleep.

A couple days later, when he was feeling strong enough to sit in a chair in the room, and Eleanor sat with him, he asked, "You didn't tell anybody I'm here, did you? How are you explaining the doctor being here every day?"

"Tullia tells anybody who comes to call on me I have a chest cold, thanks them for inquiring, but that I asked not to have visitors."

"Good girl. The sawbones recommends I give up steak, cigars and wine. My only remaining pleasures." He scoffed.

She took his hand. "Rhett, don't get yourself upset, but I must ask-why didn't you stay in Atlanta for Mrs. Wilkes funeral?"

"I'm not upset, Mother," his grin was lopsided. "Despite what the good doctor says, you won't kill me."

"Then," she jumped in, all caution abandoned for she had been consumed with curiosity. "Why did you come home _now_? And...would you like me to contact Scarlett for you? You were incoherent when you collapsed. I waited for you to wake up so I could be sure."

He looked his mother right in the eye. "Scarlett and I have parted ways."

"Are you getting," her voice lowered to a whisper, "divorced?"

"No."

Eleanor exhaled with relief.

"But we're through."

Eleanor clasped her hands, her face serious.

"Does this have to do with Bonnie? I saw what happened between you and Scarlett before the funeral-but you must believe me, Rhett, I don't think she meant to scold. I lost two children of my own, and sometimes a woman in the throes of grief says things she doesn't really mean. I know she wasn't kind, but you mustn't take the ravings of a grief-stricken mother _so _much to heart."

"I remember, Mother," his voice was low. "During the cholera outbreak. Cissy and Maddie died in the same day. Buried in the same grave."

Eleanor's smile was wistful. "Cecilia and Madeline were the dearest of little girls. Thankfully, God sent me Rosemary a few years later so I would have a little girl to love again. But what I want to make clear is that a grieving woman is not in her full senses. Whatever she said you mustn't take it to heart. She is depending on _you_ to be strong. Not the other way around. And Melanie Wilkes was _her_ sister-in-law. She's depending on you now, more than ever."

"Scarlett never depended on anyone her whole life," Rhett scoffed. "And you never spoke to father the way Scarlett spoke to me."

"I'm not Scarlett. And you are not your father." She shrugged. "Separation is not a good thing, son. You married her until death do you part."

"Living with Scarlett nearly killed me," his face was grim. "I'm afraid I can't impose on your hospitality very much longer."

"As if it were an imposition," Eleanor was indignant. "Although the doctor advised sending you on a trip for your convalescence."

"He said that? Then he's not as big a fool as I thought he was. Yes, of course, he thinks I need a trip for my health. That's what doctors always recommend for troublesome patients. _For my health_ I would very much love to see Paris again or maybe see someplace new, like Hong Kong. However, I can't manage my money from that far away. It will have to be some place closer to home."

"Why _not_ go to those places? Who managed your money before?"

"It isn't important," his voice was cautious. But Eleanor didn't really care about his money. Her mind flew to the question she'd been ruminating lately.

"Can you at least stay through Christmas?"

He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I will stay through the New Year, Mother, and then I go North."


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you all reviewers: Chris OHB, Seriously, Sandwich Deluxe, BrittanyPmouse, fillesauvage, HelenSES, z formation, Carol, RhodeIsland, Gina C M, Looks Far Woman, princeofalmora and priyankita, Guest, Diana, iris Fibonacci, Dixie Cross

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A/N So anyhow, I debate whether to give over an entire chapter to the OC's—my original plan was to tack it to the end of a chapter with canon characters. But it grew a little longer than I expected and, if you've read this far you've probably noticed I prefer to keep my chappies short and sweet. So…I decided "what the heck."

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BETHLEHEM, PENNSYLVANIA

JANUARY 1874

Marybeth Brodie's face stung despite her warm woolen muffler, and she squinted against the snow-reflected sunshine as she and her sister, Jane, walked down the road to the Geiselman house.

Jane, being the elder, had the privilege of carrying their birthday gift, a charming, hand-painted china bird that the girls had walked an entire half mile to Schneider's Dry Goods to purchase, all by themselves.

The party was in honor of Little Eva Canaan Geiselman, who lived three doors down from the Brodie's on Macungie Street. She had come by her peculiar moniker when she was at birth placed into the arms of her mother, a lady reformer and abolitionist (although the War had freed the slaves by that time), who took one look at her shock of bright yellow hair and promptly named her for her favorite character in her favorite book. But, not only did she fail to live up to her name, not being particularly saintly or _spirituelle_, she also stubbornly refused to afford people the pleasant irony of playing to the opposite of her name by being particularly naughty. She was utterly unremarkable for good or evil. And, in fact, unremarkable for pretty much anything at all.

However, a birthday party was a birthday party, and Jane never missed a chance to show off the lovely party dresses her mother made her. Annamaria Brodie kept her daughters beautifully dressed and Jane wanted to show her little friends her newest frock. She would have skipped with joy if the snow and boots and heavy woolen underwear would have permitted such freedom of movement. Instead, she had to content herself with the occasional excited hop.

Marybeth plodded along beside Jane, her head full of her mother's numerous admonitions to mind her manners and do whatever Mrs. Geiselman told them.

Mrs. Geiselman, who met them at the door. The Brodies made their curtsies, deposited their gift onto the sideboard designated for that purpose, and were ushered into the parlor to join the other little girls.

A quarter hour into the party, Jane realized that Marybeth was doing "that thing" again-a queer trick she'd cultivated since beginning school last September. She was making a show of playing charades with the other girls, but her face was utterly blank, and her movements dull, like an automaton. Sylvie Anne Davis and Arabella Mueller were nudging each other and grinning at her. Jane blushed angrily with embarrassment but she couldn't get close enough to Marybeth to make her stop without drawing attention to both of them. She turned away until she felt the heat leave her face.

The weather was too cold and the ground too snowy to allow for any active outdoor play, but Mrs. Geiselman improvised.

She organized a parade for the children, with Little Eva at the front of the line as befitted the birthday girl. Then she sat at her piano and banged out the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" in heavy four-four time. The Brodie girls chose each other as partners, and hand-in-hand they marched with the other guests down the center hall, right turn through the kitchen (to the despair of Bridie, the maid, who was trying to put the finishing touches on the cake, and protect the frosting and nuts from sneaky little fingers) and into the dining room, and another right to take them through the hallway and back into the parlor, to march along the edges of the room. Jane looked sideways at her sister. To her relief, Marybeth's step was sprightly, her eyes shining as she grinned back at Jane.

After a few circuits of the house, Mrs. Geiselman stood up. "It's almost time for cake..."

A subdued cheer went up.

"Little Eva, you will choose the girls to play King George's Troops while I step into the kitchen to assist Bridie."

And she slipped out to put the seven candles on the cake.

Before Little Eva had a chance to say anything, Sylvie Anne stepped into the circle of girls.

"Philomena and I will be King George's Troops." Philomena stepped up and grasped Sylvie Anne's hands in her own (as Arabella pouted) and they lifted them high, like an arch.

"Little Eva may go first because she's the birthday girl," Sylvie Ann graciously conceded. "And everybody else goes next."

The girls knew this game well from school-it was the latest favorite game during lunch breaks. They each took hold of the skirt of the girl in front of her, and sang as they passed under:

"Open the gates sky high

And let King George's troops pass by."

And the "troops" passed under, one by one, until, signaled by a wink from Sylvie Anne, the gates came down trapping Marybeth. Jane's stomach tightened as she turned to watch.

"And now that you're captured by King George's Troops, we get to ask you any question we like." Sylvie Anne smiled around the room, paused for dramatic effect, then, "You _do_ know you're a girl, don't you?"

The other girls exchanged uneasy grins. Jane felt the heat creeping over her cheeks.

Marybeth glanced at Jane, looked at Sylvie Anne. What sort of question was this? "Yes..."

"Then tell us why you don't behave like one?"

Jane stepped forward, cheeks flaming. "You're allowed to ask _one_ question. Your turn is over."

"You're not my mother. You can't tell me what to do."

"I can if you're not being fair. You get to ask just one question."

Sylvie Anne smiled wickedly at Philomena, then over at Arabella, who moved to Sylvie Anne's side, happy to be included again.

"I disagree. I think we have a right to know. Why doesn't your sister act like a regular girl? Why does she run around with the boys and play in dirt and pick up worms and toads? Didn't your mother ever tell you that you could get warts from toads? Or doesn't she know?"

Marybeth's eyes flashed," Keep Maman out of this."

"Or maybe you think you're too good for the rest of us."

"I guess it's a free country," Jane used the timeworn retort. "My sister can do anything she wants."

"Besides," Marybeth was still stinging in defense of her mother, "the boys play interesting games. The games _you _pick are boring."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're...full of beans!" And she and Philomena released Marybeth quickly, giving her a shove, but making it look like an accident.

Marybeth whirled around, arm raised to slap Sylvie Anne, and she would have, too, had not Little Eva decided at that moment to let out a loud wail.

Mrs. Geiselman came running in from the dining room. "Little Eva? Are you sick? Are you hurt?"

Behind Mrs. Geiselman's back, Sylvie Anne raised an eyebrow at Little Eva.

Little Eva looked back at Sylvie Anne, and then at Marybeth, who was looking glumly at the floor. Sylvie Anne was in her class at school. She ran the playground, chose the games. She also chose who was allowed to play, and who was left out. Marybeth was just some little girl in the class behind her who played with boys and acted strange. Jane was a good sort, but they didn't play together very much-Jane's class was a year ahead of hers. There was really only one avenue open to Little Eva.

"Marybeth is fighting with everybody and she's spoiling my party!" Little Eva sniffed.

Mrs. Geiselman turned to Marybeth, who looked the very picture of guilt with her red cheeks and averted gaze.

"I'm surprised at you..." She started, but Jane stepped forward.

"Please, Mrs. Geiselman, it was all a big misunderstanding. My sister didn't mean anything by it."

"Is that true, Marybeth?"

Sylvie Anne stepped forward, eyes wide and appealing. "Oh, Mrs. Geiselman, Marybeth is ever so much younger than the rest of us, I think she just didn't know how to behave with big girls. She can watch us, and we'll all show her how a little girl is supposed to behave."

Marybeth gritted her teeth with rage. She was only a year younger than Little Eva and Sylvie Anne! How she wished she quicker with that slap! It would have been worth the whipping she surely would have earned.

"Well, I suppose that will be fine," Mrs. Geiselman conceded. "But watch your manners, Marybeth. I would really hate to have to tell your mother."

XXXXX

In the parlor of the Brodie home, Marge was sitting at Maman's knee in front of the fire. They were both working on their needlework, and they were both listening to the paterfamilias of the Brodie household, Sean Patrick, hold forth on the state of the economy, as he sat in his chair opposite them, with the newspaper open between his hands.

"There but for the grace of the government contracts, Bethlehem Iron Company would fold."

Annamaria squinted and threaded her needle. "I'm not sure you have to worry. There's always a need for iron and steel. If not from this company, than another."

"Nothing's secure in this world," Sean Patrick replied. "Look at Johnson. He was a good banker, and a right good salesman-a true hail-fellow-well-met. His contracts dried up, one after another since October. He was fired yesterday."

"You've worked for Lehigh Commerce many more years than Mr. Johnson. And I'm sure they know how valuable you are." She smiled at him tenderly. "We know how valuable you are." She turned and nodded at Jane and Marybeth as they ran in, hugging and kissing their father, before they sat down on the hearthrug to get warm.

"How was the party?"

Jane piped up. "Marybeth got in trouble. She tried to strike another girl."

"Because she was teasing me!" Marybeth defended herself.

Sean Patrick was stern. "_Did_ you strike her?"

"No, Pa. But I tried."

Before Sean Patrick could scold, Jane continued, "Marybeth never plays with the other girls. Not at school, not here in the neighborhood."

Maman nodded and resumed her sewing.

"The other girls don't like to play with her, either."

Maman shrugged. "You play with her. Your sisters play with her. That's sufficient."

"You mean you don't care?" Jane was incredulous.

"I don't like your tone, young lady."

Jane bowed her head. It was not the place of little girls to question their parents.

"Besides," Maman continued. "Why should I be concerned about the opinions of the little Germans and Hungarians?"

Marge whipped her head around to look at her mother. "Maman, surely you don't want us to imagine we're too good for our neighbors? Don't you believe that all men are created equal?" Such a question would have earned any of the other girls a box on the ears, or at least a stern warning, but Marge had an especially close relationship with her mother. A grave, serious little girl who, in the words of Sean Patrick was "born old", she was as much of a mainstay to her little sisters as Maman, or their maid, Hildy.

Maman shrugged. "All the more reason that _Maria Elisabeth_ need not play up to anybody. Besides, Little Eva is a meeching little thing."

Marybeth spoke. "Little Eva only told on me. I was trying to slap Sylvie Anne Davis."

"It was still wrong, Marybeth," Marge said as Sean Patrick put the newspaper in front of his face to conceal his expression. "Besides, Maman, I thought you liked Mrs. Geiselman."

Annamaria shrugged. "I don't hold with unseemly behavior like marching in the streets and handing out tracts."

But Jane was not about to be sidetracked by a philosophical discussion of Mrs. Geiselman's political activities. "Marybeth tries to play with the boys in school. They treat her like she's one of them."

"Well, I see no harm in it, as long as it's limited to your lunch breaks. There will be plenty of time to teach her to be a lady when she outgrows this childish phase. _You_ don't tease her, do you? Or let the other girls do so?"

"No, Maman." On that point Jane's conscience was clear. No matter how embarrassing her sister was, no matter how many cat-and-dog fights they had at home, the Brodies always displayed overlapping shields to the world.


	15. Chapter 15

My readers are awesome! RhodeIsland, BrittanyPmouse, Araknafobia, Looks Far Woman, Carol, Guest, Dixie Cross, iris Fibonacci, Diana (twice!), Amaranthe Athenais

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

1874

Scarlett was on her feet again in February, out of mourning and wearing colors, but the physical effects of her illness remained, giving her a gaunt appearance reminiscent of the starvation she endured during the time around the surrender. Furthermore, the mental effects of her recent suffering left her dazed and apathetic. She stayed away from the liquor cabinet these days-she was thoroughly frightened by her near fatal experience and she shivered when she realized how close she came to death. She had not hoped to die that night-merely for blessed oblivion.

She never before realized how thin the line was between life and death. In spite of everything, she really didn't want to die-the streak of self-preservation remained strong. Furthermore, although she had largely left her religious upbringing behind, she still had a horror of Hell, and certainly didn't want to risk it by the act of self-destruction.

When she was strong enough to shuffle around the room a little, Dr. Meade spoke to her, seriously and kindly. There was none of the disapproval she was so used to receiving from him in these recent years. He was genuinely concerned for her well being, and it frightened Scarlett even more than any amount of disdain would have.

"I've known you many years, young lady. I delivered your last two children, I took care of you during your accident and miscarriage. But this latest incident," he shook his head and took her hand. "Scarlett, don't you realize you could be committed to an insane asylum for this?"

Scarlett's eyes were wide, her mouth dry. "But it was an accident, Doctor, I swear it was."

"Scarlett, I believe you. I really do. But if another doctor, one who didn't know you as well as I do, for instance, had been in charge of your case, who knows what would have happened? You could have lost everything."

Yes, it was easy to stay away from the liquor now. But although Dr. Meade cured her body, there was nothing he could do for the melancholy that descended on her. She was waiting for that magic letter, the missive from Tara calling her home. The last correspondence from the Benteens was not reassuring, although Mammy escaped having diphtheria. She did, however, have the sugars. She was, after all, an old woman, as Suellen reminded Scarlett. She was declining.

Strangely, although Scarlett felt a mild sorrow at the news of Mammy, she was too weary to take it too much to heart. Too much had happened to her, her feelings were numb, and she was surprised at herself-this letter should have hurt more. She wondered if she would ever feel anything again. But even as she wondered, it was a vague, detached sort of wonderment. And so one day melted into the next even as winter melted into spring, and she did not leave the house, all the while waiting for a letter that didn't come. She didn't even care anymore if her store went out of business. She lived for one thing. Tara.

And even that desire atrophied from the former fevered desperation to something that seemed like a merely nice thing to do.

XXXXXXX

Without Scarlett at the helm, life at the Peachtree Street mansion slid into disarray. Prissy tried to be housekeeper, but she simply didn't have the acumen of her mother or Mammy, neither of whom were available to help her. When she went to her mother for advice, Dilcey, harassed and overwhelmed with the care of Ashley and Beau, told her to figure it out for herself. She turned to her step-pa next, but Pork was aging and tiring, and furthermore, he had always been a manservant and butler. He knew in general terms what Dilcey did for the Wilkeses but it was beneath his male dignity to inquire too closely into women's work.

So Prissy did her best. However...when the furniture became dusty, she covered over the dust with sheets. She forgot to air out rooms and light the fires regularly to drive away the chill and the dampness-and cobwebs began to make inroads. She barely even kept the kitchen floor cleaned. But the bedrooms, Scarlett's sitting room and nursery were kept clean, and as long as she was fed, and her clothes ready, Scarlett didn't even notice what was happening in the rest of the house. And these days, nobody was coming to call who might see and care, or even see and gossip.

The decaying, tomblike atmosphere of the mansion, with its gloom and isolation exerted its effect on the two children living there. Ella grew even thinner, and developed the habit of picking at the skin around her fingernails until it bled. And then Miss Benson, the harsh, angular spinster who tutored her three times a week, would scold. Ella was afraid of Miss Benson, who had been businesslike but rather boring when she was hired last spring, but when she came to the realization that nobody was watching her anymore, and caught wind of the rumors that the money was drying up, became more biting and mean. She accused Ella of falling behind in her lessons. And in her misery the girl was unable to please her tutor.

Wade saw his sister's distress and tried to keep her shored up. He encouraged her to eat and he tried to distract her with games and plays when he saw her biting at her cuticles. But he couldn't be with her every second of the day-and he was too young to know about such tricks as painting her nails with bitter aloes to stop the biting. He knew she was afraid of her tutor, but there was nothing he could do about that-it wasn't a child's place to criticize a teacher. So he tried to tutor her himself at night to make it a little easier on her when she had lessons. But although she was grateful, the problem wasn't that she couldn't learn, the problem was that Miss Benson was so critical she became paralyzed with fear whenever she had to recite. And Wade was at school during the day-he couldn't stand beside her and hold her hand. No, she must face it on her own. But Wade worried about her.

And then there was the problem of Cousin Beau. Wade tried to keep him cheered up, too-stuck by him in the school yard, steered him away from the other boys when he looked like he was about to cry, made sure he played ball and joined in the schoolyard games and fun, but no matter what he did, Beau would be happy for just a little while, then go back to being sad.

As for himself, Wade grew very quiet and became even more conscientious about his studies. He developed nightmares, or rather, just _one_ nightmare-his old recurring dream about the Yankees coming to get him. In his waking hours, he knew the whole idea was absurd. The War was over for a long time now. And besides, he'd lived long enough to realize that enemy soldiers would have no plausible reason to "come and get" a mere child. But on more nights than not, he woke up thrashing in a cold sweat, barely escaping the Yankees of his nightmares. It became so severe he wished he were back in the nursery with Ella, but he was too ashamed to suggest it. He wished Ella would develop night terrors too, so he could have an excuse to move back into the nursery with her. But her terrors were of the daylight, and she found blessed respite in sleep.

Wade was determined to be the man of the house, to take as many of Mother's burdens away from her as possible. But it was no easy thing to know just what it was that Mother needed. She wasn't sick anymore, but she was different. No longer the bustling, efficient mother of before, it was as if, during her mysterious illness, some inner light were quenched, leaving a dark, empty shell behind.

And of course, he was consumed with curiosity, as to what actually happened to Uncle Rhett. He wasn't as naive as _they_ imagined-the adults in his life knew more than they were telling, and he decided that he wanted some answers too.

So one day, as Mother was sitting at her desk, holding (but not seeing) the ledger book from the store, he approached her, and with as much fake unconcern as he could muster, said, "I think I should like to write a letter to Uncle Rhett and tell him of my progress at school. How shall I address it?"

Scarlett lifted her eyes from the ledger, but did not look at him. "In care of the bank, dear."

Wade's eyes narrowed. Mother's answer was a little too smooth.

"Too bad he wasn't at Aunt Melly's funeral."

Mother's shoulders slumped a bit, but she answered steadily, "You know how it is with Uncle Rhett's business interests. He just wasn't able to get away at that time."

Wade nodded. "He was very fond of Aunt Melly, wasn't he? He always said such nice things about her."

Scarlett frowned. "Yes, that's so."

"So don't you think he would have tried to be here?" Scarlett turned to stare at her son, standing there, his face utterly blank, utterly innocent-a little too innocent, if you asked her. How strange that he would keep pushing for answers when he was usually so reserved.

In fact, Wade was quaking inside, appalled by his own temerity. He dug his fingernails into his hands to stop their shaking. Mother had that look on her face that usually came right before "Oh, run away and play, Wade. You're giving me a headache." But she looked directly at him and said, "There's lots of things you don't know yet about adults' affairs. When you're older you'll understand."

Wade's jaw clenched. Adults always told you that when they wanted to hide things from you. Especially interesting things. He lifted his chin and met his mother's gaze look for look. She looked away first, staring over the top of the ledger at something he could not see, and leaving him feeling uneasy. He never saw Mother back down before and it was frightening to Wade who never knew her to be anything but a tower of strength and self-will.

But it only lasted a moment. She squared her shoulders, said, "We will not be discussing this further. Run away and play now." And she stared at Wade hard. This time the boy looked away. He could write all the letters he wanted, but it would do no good. Uncle Rhett wouldn't get any of them-because Mother didn't know where he was.


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you to my reviewers: princeofalmora and priyankita, fillesauvage, Looks Far Woman, BrittanyPmouse, Dixie Cross, bonnie blue, Diana, Guest, HelenSES, ChrisOHB

CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

1874

Charleston brought back no memories of the War, thought Uncle Henry as he stepped off the train and into the bustling crowds on the platform. No soldiers here to shoot at him, no cannons, no carnage. Simply a charming town, a delightful place to visit. Delightful, that is, except for the reason for this visit. His family's future was in jeopardy, and he was a young man no more. And just like in the War, he had an enemy to pursue-or at least to challenge.

It was hard to believe it was a full nine years since he had last been here-during the final days of Sherman's infamous march to the sea. Cold he had been, and hungry-but he had felt more alive in those days than at anytime before or since.

With the porter following behind him pushing the cart with his luggage, he hired a conveyance to take him to the hotel, then, all settled in, he took another coach to the Battery, where he expected to find his prey, Rhett Butler.

Eleanor Butler lived in a three-story house right on the palm tree lined waterfront. Shaded balconies on the second and third stories afforded a view of the water, and generously proportioned windows ensured fresh breezes during the warm months. Meticulously appointed gardens gave mute testimony to the affluence of their owner, although it was bare of flowers this time of year. Uncle Henry signaled the driver to stop, then submitted to the indignity of being helped down the steep and wobbly steps.

A little colored maid answered the door at his ring, and he was ushered into the parlor where Eleanor Butler was sitting in state. She did not rise to meet him, but made him approach her to take her outstretched hand. And she merely raised an eyebrow when he declared that his business was not with her, but with her son.

"Henry Hamilton-why you must be one of my daughter-in-law's people."

"Yes, ma'am. Scarlett's uncle by marriage-her first marriage."

"And how is the dear girl?"

Her eyes were averted and down, arm outstretched toward the teapot, her words cool as butter.

"She was unwell earlier this winter, but recovering nicely at the present moment."

"Oh how reassuring," she murmured as she poured the tea. "It has been an ever-so-difficult time-Bonnie's passing and then Mrs. Wilkes. She was your niece, I understand..."

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry. Of course, she's in a better place. They are spared much who are called away from this world while they're still young. Poor consolation, of course, but better than none at all."

Uncle Henry felt like she was stalling him, sitting there spouting platitudes.

"Thank you for your...kind words. All due respect, ma'am, my business is with Captain Butler."

"Oh I'm so sorry. I'm afraid he isn't here."

"And when will he be back?"

She laughed. "Rhett never tells me his plans. He arrives when he chooses and departs when the spirit moves him."

"Well, apparently, the spirit moved him to take himself and his money away from Atlanta."

One eyebrow rose slightly, but her face remained pleasant. "Oh, I shouldn't worry. They aren't starving, are they-Scarlett and the children? Thrown out on the street?"

"The taxes are paid through this year on the mansion and on Tara."

Eleanor clapped her hands, smiling widely. "Then there is no need for you to take on so. After all, it is Rhett's money to do with as he pleases, is it not? All this fuss for nothing."

"My concern is for Scarlett and her children."

"Why are you concerned? Scarlett isn't really your niece-not by blood, anyway. I don't remember her talking to you at Bonnie's funeral. I don't remember Rhett ever mentioning you. Quite frankly, niece-by-marriage is a rather slender claim, especially when she married twice more after your nephew died."

"Her son, Wade, is my nephew by blood. And Hamiltons don't abandon their own."

"Clannish," her smile was withering.

"So are you. You hold the privacy of your son's whereabouts higher than the welfare of a helpless woman and two children."

Eleanor snorted. "Hardly helpless, from what I hear-she owns a store and used to own lumber mills. And so you intend to spend-how much time exactly?-chasing after my son. I really don't know where he is, Mr. Hamilton, other than he's not in Charleston. Not that I would tell you, if I did know. He does _not _wish to be found. But," she shrugged, suddenly detached. "It's a free country, and I wish you best of luck."

"Some comfort you are," he retorted, pushed to rudeness.

"But my dear Mr. Hamilton, have we not already established that they are safe and fed?" Her face was as bland as baby's. "So I'm quite afraid you have set yourself on a wild goose chase coming here, and I'm terribly sorry for your inconvenience, but I'll have Tullia show you to the door."

She reached for the gold velvet rope that worked the bell and tugged it. Uncle

Henry stood up, made his bows and moved towards the exit.

"Was Scarlett _very_ sick?"

Uncle Henry turned. There were faint creases in the corners of her eyebrows-she was looking at him as if through a magnifying glass.

"We were afraid we might lose her."

Eleanor steepled her hands. "What do you really hope to gain in looking for my son?"

"I would like to him reconciled with my niece."

"Are you certain that's in their best interests?"

Uncle Henry's eyes opened wide. "Are you thinking divorce or even separation is in either of their best interests? Think of the scandal! Nobody forced them to marry, you know. And now they are, they have a responsibility to see it through."

"As a Christian woman, of course I don't condone divorce. However, I'm thinking maybe Scarlett said some things that were better left unsaid."

"Let me tell you something about Scarlett. When she married into our family, she was gay and high-spirited, and a little too slick for her own good. But she was respectable. She had a mother and father looking out for her and guarding her morals and manners-and reputation. But ever since your son came into her life, giving her ideas-and this started back during the War, mind you-she's bounced from one scandal to another, starting with dancing in public while in mourning for Charlie Hamilton all the way through entertaining carpetbaggers and scalawags in their home. A gentleman would have left her alone."

Eleanor started out of her chair. "Rhett sowed his share of wild oats as a young man. They all do at that age. But he changed."

"Yes, ma'am. And I have seen him do some mighty fine and honorable things in the last few years. But the fact remains; he was not altogether guiltless in the way their marriage turned out. He was the older and more experienced one. He should have guarded her better from her own folly."

Eleanor turned red, enraged at the criticism of her child. Uncle Henry was right of course, but it was unpleasant to hear. Before she could think of a stinging retort, her maid walked in and dropped a curtsy.

"Tullia, see Mr. Hamilton to the door," she swept her arm with a grand gesture.

And before he knew what he was about, Henry was standing on the other side of the front door-out on the stoop.

In a miserable temper, he rode back to his hotel, where there was a message waiting for him-

_You want to know about Rhett Butler? Meet me. Come alone._


	17. Chapter 17

Thank you reviewers: BlondSerious, princeofalmora and priyankita, Rhode Island, Sandwich Deluxe, BrittanyPmouse, annaPanag, South678, HelenSES, Chris OHB, Carol CR, guest, priyankita, Amaranthe Athenais, Dixie Cross, lovingwtw, alexceasar, Diana, iris Fibonacci

XXXXXXX

a/n very short hahaha

XXXXXXX

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

1874

Ella wandered around the mansion, stopping now and again to look out the windows at the garden. It was an "in-and-out day", Ella's own phrase for a sun that came out to shine briefly before hiding in the clouds again.

Dinner was over a couple of hours ago, and it would be a couple hours before supper. Ella had nothing to do, and with Wade upstairs working on his studies, she had no one to play with. She sat in one of the massive window seats in the dining room and pouted at nobody in particular. She was bored and lonely. Even Bonnie's cat had stalked in, looked directly at her where she sat, then walked out without so much as a _meow. _Ella was afraid of animals, and Puss had sharp little claws, but that really was the last straw-some cats had all the nerve!

The sight of Puss reminded her-Beau had a cat, too. A sleepy animal that napped most of the day. But Beau doted on it. Maybe-

Maybe she could go over and play with cousin Beau!

It was a daring thought. They played together, Wade and Ella and Beau, but she had never played with him all by herself. She had never even walked to the Wilkeses all by herself. On the other hand, Bonnie used to ride her pony there all the time when she was alive. If Bonnie, who was littler than her, could make the trip, why not Ella?

With no Miss Benson that day, there was no one to tell her she couldn't go. She didn't think to ask Mother or anyone else. Before she could think it through, her coat was on, although unbuttoned, and she was skipping down the sidewalk, smiling as she noticed the green mist over the trees that were the tender new leaves.

She arrived at her cousin's to find Dilcey who said he was playing in the yard.

She went down into the yard, but no Beau. He wasn't in any of the climbing trees or through the shrubbery into Aunt Pitty's yard. She peeked in the little shed where they kept their horse, and heard shuffling in the hayloft. She climbed the ladder to see.

Beau was sitting with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them with his face buried. He was crying.

Ella's heart melted. Here was her favorite cousin crying all alone! She scrambled onto the hayloft and sat down next to him with a thump. He turned to look at her, and for a moment he thought he might yell at her to go away. Boys were funny like that.

Their eyes met, and the look of compassion in Ella's made Beau want to run away, so fast nobody could catch him, to a place nobody would ever think to look. He was weary, bone-weary of everybody around him trying to cheer him up. He understood well enough that people cared about him and didn't want to see him hurting, but he was tired of putting up a brave front for people. He desperately wished to be allowed to feel the way he felt without having to answer for his grief. Plus, tears were sissy and he felt ashamed in front of little Ella.

Ella stared back, her thin face framed in straggly ginger locks that escaped the braids Prissy put them in this morning, her coat unbuttoned in the cold, but her cheeks flushed from exertion, and the effect was one of a mischievous, runaway elf-he had a sudden, strange fancy that she really and truly escaped from one of his picture books. And there was no scorn there in her face, just compassion and understanding.

Then she sighed-wild horses couldn't have dragged her away from Beau in that moment-and she turned her body so she was facing the same direction as he, her knees drawn up and her arms around them loosely, and sat for a moment. Then, without embarrassing him by looking at him, she reached out and put her little hand over his. He allowed the contact for the briefest of moments before he put his fists up to his eyes and wept more.

They sat together like that, shoulders barely touching and no need for words, plays, or Wade's well-meaning games. Ella felt the most peculiar sensation, as though something was stretching and breaking inside her. Of course, she had cried with him right after Aunt Melly died, but this was different-her own, particular grief over Aunt Melanie's death was fading, Aunt Melanie's memory was fading, too, and settling into a pastel-colored gentleness, like the image on a holy card-a thing past the point of tears. No longer crying for her own grief, she was learning what it was to feel the grief of somebody she cared about and give them the comfort of her company. It was pain and it was pleasure and it was her very first lesson in selfless love.


End file.
